


in all this driftwork

by pyrrhlc



Series: in all this driftwork [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-13 02:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12973959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhlc/pseuds/pyrrhlc
Summary: Taking off on a road trip in the middle of the night was a bad idea, Magnus decides. But then, he was always fond of bad ideas.He hopes Julia will forgive him for it.





	1. And Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning for those going forward: In this AU, Julia dies of a terminal illness. Just wanted to let you all know before you started reading. Magnus’ coping mechanisms thereafter are not great. So, content warning for everyone going forward.
> 
> Additionally, if I end up doing something shitty/representing something the wrong way, feel free to send me a message over on [Tumblr](http://pyrrhlc.tumblr.com). That includes using the wrong names for American foods, because I quite literally had to look up what Americans call crisps. Not that you can have a road trip anywhere else, I suppose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus runs away. Everything is very sad.

It’s dark. It’s late. Magnus feels his head lolling at the steering wheel, looks up at the empty road and pulls himself upright. Not tonight. He can’t afford to make any mistakes tonight. Not now, after everything.

The world is so much, and Magnus is so very tired.

 _You knew this would happen_ , says that awful, tragic voice inside his head, wheedling and cajoling. _You knew you’d lose her. Why did you even try?_

Well. Magnus knows the answer to that. Has always known. It’s the only thing he’s ever been certain of, in this gazed-upon and cherished world, and now he knows it more than ever.

_Because I loved her._

He did, Magnus thinks. He really did.

*

Later, he pulls over onto the side of the road and powers down the engine, sliding his feet out of his seat automatically as he reaches into the back and pulls forth a blanket and a moth-eaten pillow. It’s been like this since he left, really; drive for eight, nine or even ten hours, until your legs give out, until the sun goes down and then…

Sleep. He sleeps, or tries to, climbing like a wounded soldier into the back seat and lying flat against the leather, cold, care-worn, out of sight and out of mind. This is how things are now, he thinks, plumping the pillow uselessly and trying to store both shoulders and toes beneath the stretched tartan fabric. It doesn’t work. He’s always been too large, six-foot-seven with inches to spare, arms and legs muscled from a lifetime of carpentry, and now—

He wishes he were smaller. He wishes that he was small enough to heal, to cower, without anyone noticing the droop of his head and the slump of his shoulders. His heart, like his sadness, is too much for him now – it sits like a heap of rock in his chest, harrowing his breaths and his limbs as he rolls over onto his side, sighing heavily, thinking once again what it was like for Julia at the end of her life in that sterile hospital with the windows that never opened. It must have been terrible, he thinks wretchedly, his stone heart spasming inside his chest. Julia had loved the sun, and the sunrise. She won’t be here to see this next one.

It’s the last thing he thinks before sinking finally into oblivion. When he wakes, the sun is already directly overhead.

*

The gas station is shitty, rusted and under-stocked. Magnus moves sluggishly between the aisles, watched like a hawk by the blond man with the straggly hair sat down behind the counter, coins jingling listlessly in his half-open palm. He can feel the tiredness setting in now – running away has its merits, sure, but it also has its drawbacks. This is one of them, Magnus thinks. This is what comes from not waiting around for his wife’s funeral. It’s a sad occasion, really, and Magnus deserves every bit of it.

They’d switched the life support machine off in the middle of the night. Magnus remembers that much, remembers living through that much, at the very least. He hadn’t been the one to make the decision. Julia’s family had. Which was all fair and good, when money was short and life was expensive but – what then? What could possibly come after that?

Julia’s father had locked eyes with him just beforehand. And in that moment, Magnus had known where he’d rather be.

Not here. Not here or anywhere, but unmade. Removed from this terrible, terrible Earth and all the choices it had laid out for him.

“You thinking of buying something, homie?” asks the man at the front of the store. He blinks. Magnus has forgotten where he is again – it’s the sort of thing that always happens in liminal spaces such as this. Forgotten gas stations, hospital waiting rooms in the early hours of the morning. The burning hot roof tiles of the Waxmen family home. Always he loses himself.

And always he comes back to reality with a snap.

“Sorry,” he mutters. He grabs randomly at a bag of chips and a soda and heads to the counter. He studies the man’s face as he rings up the sale – he’s too young, Magnus thinks, to be working in a store like this, alone in the midst of everything, or maybe that’s just how he looks – his dirty blond hair falls in tangles down his back, tied up in a careless ponytail and half-stuffed under his cap. His uniform is grey in places and Magnus can’t help but think he looks exhausted. He looks the kind of man who would understand Magnus’ predicament, somehow, but Magnus doesn’t think he’d listen. He’s got his own problems – that much is already clear.

“That’s three dollars forty-five, bubbaleh.” the man says. Magnus tips the coins into the man’s palm and takes the soda and chips from the counter. It’s all he’s eaten since he set out, really.

“Thank you,” he says to the man, as the receipt is pressed into his hand. If the man behind the counter looks surprised at this remark, he does well to hide it – emotions, like acceptance, is not something that comes easy here, Magnus thinks. Oh well. He’ll be going somewhere else today anyway. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

Things like friendship, Magnus thinks, hurrying out of the door, really don’t seem that important anymore.

*

He sits himself down in the car and opens the soda bottle, drinking it without complaint. The bedding in the back seat is exactly as he left it, and Magnus – clothes rumpled, eyes tinged with violet streaks – is one-hundred-percent content to keep it that way. He stuffs the chips into a nearby compartment and screws the lid back on the soda. It’s time to leave. Visit somewhere he’s never been before. It’ll be fun and new and exciting and he won’t have time to think about any of it once he gets going. At soon as he puts his foot on the accelerator, he’ll be off.

But he doesn’t. Magnus tries to lift his foot, raise his head, but suddenly the will to keep going isn’t there. It’s curled up inside him, lying dormant, and Magnus isn’t sure how to wake it. He was doing so well, not forty-eight hours before, backing out of the hospital car park and knowing finally that the seat beside him would never again be full. He was OK, sort of. He’d be fine, so long as he didn’t think.

But Magnus is thinking now, he realises. And right now, all he wants is Julia.

“You OK in there, bubbaleh?”

Magnus nearly jumps out of his skin. His limbs lock up, his head darts sideways, and there is—

The man from the gas station. Well, that’s not so unusual. He’s probably wondering why Magnus hasn’t left yet. Probably.

Fear swells in his stomach and blooms between his ribs as the man leans in against the half-open window.

“I’m fine,” he manages, not quite looking at him. “I just – motor trouble.”

The man from the gas station frowns at him, his eyes darting towards the accelerator. Magnus’ foot is nowhere near it. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

The man sighs. “Well,” he says. “That’s a shame.” Magnus resists the urge to flinch as the man’s eyes wash over him, sharp and dark brown, like the trunk of an oak tree. “I was hoping you could take me for a ride.”

For a moment, Magnus doesn’t understand. Then he does. “You want a lift?” he asks. His voice sounds slightly incredulous. As it should, he thinks.

“I wanna get out of this dump,” the man says, his eyebrows accosting. “You’re the first customer I’ve had in weeks. I could do with a road trip.”

Magnus frowns. “I’m not on a road trip.”

The door opens. Without invitation, the man from the gas station slides into the seat. Into Julia’s seat. “Sure you are,” he says. He glances into the back of the car, dark brown eyes sweeping back and forth over the dishevelled and crooked contents. For the first time, Magnus realises that he feels slightly embarrassed. “You’re sleeping in your car. You’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Of course you’re going on a road trip. Got a destination in mind?”

“I—no.” Magnus says, and then regrets it, because damn it, it’s the truth. He doesn’t know where he’s going. “I have no idea.”

“Excellent. Maybe we can pick Lup up en route.” The man turns in his seat – _Julia’s seat_ , Magnus’ brain reminds him forcefully, and says, “I’m Taako. You got a name?”

“Magnus,” Magnus says, and all of a sudden the careful, graceful trail he’s left behind has been shattered – he’s spoken to someone, been recognised by someone, and now…

_The funeral is tomorrow. There’s no way you’ll get back in time._

Magnus knows the truth of the matter. And the matter is this: there’s a strange man in his car, possibly named after a tex-mex food, and he wants to go wherever Magnus is going. Whatever happens next, Magnus is not alone. His heart attempts a smile that is quickly extinguished.

_This man could be an axe murderer._

_He could also be a wizard. There’s no way to know._

Well, Magnus thinks, there are worse things to do. Taking a random stranger halfway across the country is not one of them. He shrugs at the man and fires up the engine.

“You got any bags?”

Taako leans back in his seat and smiles indulgently. “Already in the trunk, my dude.” he says. “You should update your locks.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“There is now.”

Magnus sighs and presses down on the accelerator.

And then, like that, they are off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I have no idea when I will next update this - I wrote this pretty much spontaneously so I haven’t really got an outline yet. But! I think I’ll finish it. Probably.
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/feedback are always appreciated. Here’s hoping I’ll be able to capture the full extent of the Road Trip Aesthetic from this point out, liminal spaces and all.


	2. These Hands of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Taako make some headway on their road trip. Taako makes up a few new nicknames. Magnus almost drives them off the road.

****“So,” Magnus asks, as if this is an ordinary trip, and the man opposite an ordinary friend. “Got anywhere in mind?”

Taako hums absently. “Not yet,” he says. There’s an edge of doubt in his voice that Magnus chooses not to notice. “I’ll let you know when I think of something.”

Magnus grunts. “Right,” he says, lowering his eyes to the road again. “Well, that’s helpful. I thought you wanted out of here?”

“I did,” Taako says. He glances at the bag of chips that sits between them, still unopened. “I do. It was a very spontaneous decision.”

Yes, Magnus thinks, studying the flat-edged fields that surround them as they drive on through the absence, eating up the sun-baked, heat-scorched road, it was certainly that. This trip has no beginning and no end – or at least, no ending that he can imagine himself enjoying. Everything ends with Julia, and Magnus just can’t bear thinking about that now. It’s too dangerous. He has a passenger, now; the least responsible thing he can do is keep himself on track and not run them off the road. Death won’t bring him any closer to Julia. That much he knows. That much she instilled in him, in her last hours and consciousness and life.

No, Julia is lost. Magnus knows this, he _knows_ it, and yet… he doesn’t. It’s impossible to fathom, the love of your life being taken from you so suddenly and swiftly, even if it does happen in slow decline, in fits and starts, wedding plans littered with hospital trips and blood tests and transfusions, IV drips and sterile signs that don’t and never have led to anywhere. Magnus knew where he was heading – where Julia was heading – from the very beginning. And yet he’d allowed himself to fall in love with her anyway. How very stupid.

How very Magnus.

“You OK in there, my dude?”

Taako likes nicknames. This is the one thing that Magnus knows for sure. They’re good for holding people at a distance. This he knows as well.

Taako is very good at holding people at a distance, he thinks.

“I’m fine,” he replies, throat still numb at the thought of Julia, dressed in her best clothes and laid out like a tableau for all to see. The funeral is coming closer and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since they pulled away from the gas station. “Just thinking.”

Taako frowns. “Must be thinking hard,” he says, his voice shadowed. “Make sure not to run us off the road, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what, I’ll drive.”

“What?”

“Stop the car, big man. I have a licence. I know how these things go.”

Magnus pulls over and climbs out of the car. The ground beneath his feet is hotter than a thousand suns and dusty in the same way an abandoned room might be. It’s an asthma-packed highway, for sure.

For a moment, Magnus considers the world being one big toy box, filled with abandoned corners. It seems important for a brief moment, but then Taako is calling to him from the driver’s seat and he finds the significance of life lost on him all over again. Typical.

But there’s no denying that this part of America is empty as hell.

“Thinking again?” Taako asks, leaning sideways out of the car door window. There’s half a dozen bugs pressed up against the glass, and for a moment Magnus feels kind of sorry for them. Then, like the toy box image, the moment is gone and he finds himself climbing back into the car. Into Julia’s seat.

If he thinks he can smell her perfume, well, it’s probably just wishful thinking.

“I just thought of somewhere,” Taako says. “It’s very residential.” He cranes his head sideways to look at Magnus. Magnus looks back at him wearily from behind half-closed eyelids. Somehow, despite the sun hanging high in the sky, it feels like it’s been a long day. A long night.

A long life.

“Don’t suppose you have anything to share with me, big man?”

Apparently Taako has begun developing personalised nicknames. If he has, well, he’s slacking, certainly. “No,” Magnus says tiredly. “Nothing to share.”

Magnus can’t tell Taako about Julia, he thinks. Taako is a stranger. It wouldn’t be enough.

“OK, good.” Taako says. He starts up the engine and leans forward to grab hold of the steering wheel. “I hate feelings.”

*

That night, Taako refuses to sleep anywhere but the car seat.

“You can take the back,” Magnus repeats, his own eyes puffy with exhaustion and the hot Californian air. “I don’t mind.”

Taako scoffs at him loudly. “You need to go the fuck to sleep,” he says, as Magnus’ head begins lolling once more. “Just lie down, Maggie. I ain’t fighting with you.”

Magnus gives up and crawls into the back seat. He kicks the blanket there to the floor. It’s already so warm in here he really doesn’t need it. Really doesn’t. His skin is alive with the heat. Sweat boils beneath his three-day-old collar and chafes uncomfortably at line of his jeans. Clothes. He really ought to have brought more clothes. And deodorant.

If Taako is irritated by any of this, he doesn’t say it. Magnus watches him through half-open eyes as he reaches for the blanket by the floor, tucks it over his legs and curls up over himself in the passenger seat. He doesn’t close his eyes.

The last thing Magnus thinks before falling asleep is that Taako called him by name – or an approximation of it. It’s the sort of thing that would seem important, if anything was important anymore.

 _Goodnight Taako_ , he thinks, closing his eyes again. The dark is sweet and welcoming. Magnus easily loses himself in the blackness.

*

When Magnus wakes, Taako is already at the wheel.

“Where’re we headed?” Magnus asked blearily, sitting up and trying to take note of their colour-spun surroundings through half-closed eyes. Taako glances back at him from the front of the car, the glint in his eye more pronounced on this day than ever before.

“Manhattan,” he says at last. “Manhattan Beach.”

Magnus frowns, pulling himself up. “Isn’t that a bit – residential?” he asks. “I mean, it’s a big city.”

Taako clicks his teeth. It’s unclear whether or not the gesture is directed at him. “We’re heading for the suburbs,” he says shortly, and he doesn’t speak again until they reach one of the much more popular conjunctions – a road on which they are not the only car. Magnus watches the people passing them by without comment for a while, marvelling at the diversity and complexity of these many people, single drivers, families of four or five, lovers going home to the other lovers. Couples that sing along to songs loudly with the windows wound down, their faces clear and their eyes bright; children fully absorbed by the book or console on their lap. A travelling Labrador that seems to wish for nothing more than fresh air and someone to hear him bark. Magnus lets out a laugh as he watches the dog flounder happily in the back seat and then – stops. He hasn’t laughed since the beginning of it all, really. Hasn’t been true to himself or honest with himself since then. It feels… good. It feels like a road trip is meant to feel, with no destination in mind and no home to go to. He turns back to the front of the car and finds Taako watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“You OK?” Taako asks. There’s no nickname this time. Just honesty. If Taako wasn’t so good at hiding things, Magnus might’ve thought he was worried. Not about Magnus, of course. But about where they are going.

“I’m good,” he says, and this time his answer is honest too. “Thanks for taking over.”

Taako shrugs and turns his attention back to the steering wheel. Between the two of them, it’s a miracle they haven’t crashed into something already. “No problem, bub.” he says evasively, but despite his best tricks, Magnus knows that he means it. “Can’t have you slamming us into a wall before we’ve even started. My ethereal beauty would be completely wasted on a wall. Or an obituary.”

Magnus smiles indulgently. “Of course,” he says, playing along, wondering if this is how Taako always operates: not in the open, but in the darkness, praising himself whilst sinking ever-deeper into oblivion. “You’re much better suited for a movie poster than an obituary.”

Taako flicks his ears irritably. Magnus isn’t quite sure how he does it. “No movies for me,” he says quietly – quietly enough, Magnus thinks, that he could pretend not to hear Taako if he chose to. “I think I’m just about finished with the limelight by this point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sporadic update number one! Despite what I said when I first posted this fic, I already have some semblance of a plan hashed out and some idea of an ending haha. Sorry college work~ :’D
> 
> [Needle’s Eye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8864hXKd7o) is such a good, good song for Magnus. I definitely recommend it.


	3. Touch The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako and Magnus arrive at their first destination. Taako is evasive. Magnus is reminded.

Magnus falls back asleep again and doesn’t wake until Taako leans back and pokes him in the shoulder. It’s not difficult. There’s a lot of Magnus and not a whole lot of Taako.

“Wake up, bubbaleh.” Taako says, as Magnus’ eyes blink slowly open for the second time that day. It’s late now, he thinks; the air is cooler than it was when they set off, but still warm – Magnus heaves in a breath and imagines what the beach must be like right now, all smooth sand and azure ripples. Not crowded, surely. Not at this time of night. He sits up in his seat and very nearly cracks his head open on the ceiling.

“Where are we?” he asks. Out beyond the city limits, he can see a haze of blue-angled, snow-capped mountains, shimmering and shining in their majesty. The sky above them appears back-lit by a hazy, orange glow. Magnus sits back and winds down a window, then adds, “Are we close?”

“To what, big man?” Taako shoots back sharply, and Magnus feels himself retreating, feels his muscles contract inside his ribs and his neck stiffen as if caught out by a set of headlights. He’s never heard Taako speak like that before. Granted, he’s only really known Taako one or two days tops, but nevertheless…

There is anger there, tempered by fear. Wherever they’re headed, Taako is afraid of it. Incredibly afraid.

Magnus’ heart softens in his chest. In the lull of conversation that follows (Magnus can feel the atmosphere, stretched tight like the surface of a balloon) Taako turns right and onto a smaller, much narrower residential street, and for the first time Magnus realises they probably aren’t as close to Manhattan as he thought. This isn’t a city – it’s a town. And a small town at that. His frowning eyes bore into Taako’s back as he turns down one road and then another, each street eerily similar; rows and rows of blue-and-white clapboard houses that seem to shake and shudder in the rising heat. The air in front of Magnus is like a shimmering arc of light – despite the light breeze, he pulls again at his collar and wonders how Taako could go from relaxed to stiff as a board in two minutes flat. They’re looking for a house – Magnus is sure of it. But which house? Where?

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t have to. The car slows and Magnus watches as Taako’s shoulders sag and his breath catches in the direct centre of his throat. The car slows and the engine becomes silent. Taako reaches out a hand to open the car’s side door – and stops.

“Stay here,” he says. It is not a request. Magnus nods numbly and watches as Taako wanders up this well-to-do drive, identical as the others.

Or perhaps not quite. There’s a small tub of flowers standing just beneath the windowsill, red and orange and all the shades in-between. They look out of place in a suburb as neat as this. Magnus takes to them instantly. They’re just like him: growing despite the consequences, despite the odd looks and glares and whispers. Magnus hasn’t grown as a person in a long time, but he feels the understanding there. The need to nurture and love something like your own.

Julia would have loved them, he thinks.

In the same instant, Taako knocks on the door.

A woman roughly the same age as Taako opens it just a moment later. She’s dressed in a long red dress entirely suited for the heat the surrounds them, and her hair is nut-brown like Julia’s. Magnus’ stomach clenches and he looks away, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. There’s an expression on the woman’s face he doesn’t quite like, but for the moment, Magnus can’t place it. He doesn’t want to.

“Maggie! Get out of the car!”

Magnus looks up and finds Taako beckoning to him, gesturing towards the house. He stands up uneasily and grasps the door handle, sliding out with some semblance of discomfort. He has always been too big for this car. He has always been too big for everything. Except his heart, of course.

No, Magnus’ heart has forever been bigger than his body. He could never contain it. Not then, and not now. He stands up and shuts the car door behind him, accidently slamming it. Oh well. As good impressions go…

If the woman looks confused at his presence here, she does well to hide it. Magnus follows the pair of them into the house, noting as he does so that the two of them – Taako and the woman – are exactly the same height. He frowns and continues on.

The interior of the house is pleasant and airy, and Magnus loses himself for a moment, thinking of the home he and Julia could have lived in, the home they could have crafted for themselves. But then the illusion is broken: Taako is gesturing for him to follow on into the sitting room, a strange and peculiar expression on his face. For a moment, Magnus is certain that it is concern. But then it is gone, and he follows on into the brightly lit room.

There’s a man sat on one of the couches, apparently completely absorbed by the thick paperback in his hands. He’s slightly overweight and looks sort of tired for his age, as if he’s done too much too soon. Magnus can relate. The woman from the doorway coughs pointedly. The man looks up – and smiles.

“Taako!” he says, standing up. He puts the book down on the chair but does not embrace him. His eyes flicker sideways to rest on Magnus. “And who’s this?”

“That’s Maggie,” Taako says, before Magnus can introduce himself with any kind of dignity. “We’re here on a road trip.”

A frown crosses the man’s face and he glances back at the woman standing in the doorway. She’s frowning at Taako in the same way she had earlier, and Magnus realises that she looks troubled. Troubled and afraid. But then the expression is gone, and she shrugs her shoulders and says, “Right, OK. Anything else you want to tell us, brother of mine?”

Taako tilts his head on one side and looks sideways at Magnus. Magnus looks back with a frown clinched between his eyebrows.

“Not really,” Taako says, shrugging, as if this is the most normal thing in the world – as if any of this is normal, really. His eyes start drifting again in the direction of Magnus, and Magnus finds himself looking pointedly away. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, though.”

His sister – his _twin_ , Magnus realises, for who else could it be, the two of them identical right down the last eyelash, bar a few key important differences and turns of phrase? – huffs loudly and starts out of the room. The man from the couch gestures awkwardly towards the kitchen.

“So,” he says, still eyeing Magnus in particular. “Tea or coffee?”

*

The kitchen is a good place to be, Magnus thinks. A good kitchen is the central station of a house, with children trooping in and out, muddy Wellington boots stacked up by the doorway, fruit in the fruit bowl. There aren’t any children here, but Magnus thinks it feels just the same; welcoming, and lightly touched by timelessness. This is what a house should be.

The kitchen, like the sitting room, is spacious and sparsely decorated; a small army of cooking utensils hang from hooks just beneath a nearby shelf, the top of which is almost entirely taken up by a collection of pots and pans, arranged by size from large to small. The oven is large and reminds Magnus unfailingly of a farmhouse – a giant green Aga squished up between two wooden-topped kitchen units and a white china sink. It feels comfortable, here. The fridge has alphabet magnets on it. There’s an empty soup bowl sat on top of the drainer. This place is lived in every bit as much as it is used, and for Magnus it just feels _right_.

He knows why that is and tries desperately not to think about it. About the house Julia should have lived in, permanently, or at least long enough to allow her smell to linger on the pillowcases and in the bathroom, soaps and lotions scattered around the room carelessly to be found at a later date. No. Julia never had that – and neither did Magnus. Julia was never home for long enough to spend the night with him. He should never have done it. Should never have bought the house, and instead conceded to moving in with Julia’s parents instead. Like they’d insisted. But Magnus, as with all things, hadn’t listened.

And so he had become lost in that lonely, yellow house.

“Here you go,” says the tired man from before, setting a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. “You look like you need it. Long journey?”

Magnus nods mutely and allows his gaze to drift over back towards the Aga. Taako and his sister stand there, trapped in a heated, whispered discussion that no-one, not even the man beside him, seems eager to breach. He can’t hear what they’re saying. In his ears there roars a mighty buzz.

The man sits down at the four-seater table. It’s wooden and has yellow placemats. It’s quaint, Magnus supposes, or it would have been, had his stomach allowed for it.

Right now, his stomach is captured in knots.

The voices drift back to him like static on the breeze – small, tinny whispers – but Magnus ignores them. The man at the table continues to look at him.

“I’m Barry,” he says, holding out his hand, as if Taako invites his unwilling chauffeurs to dinner all the time. “Over there, that’s Lup. They’re twins, just in case you didn’t notice. I’m her husband.”

Magnus gives another silent nod. There’s bile in his throat. He looks down at his coffee and wonders how he might drink it without opening his mouth. Or speak. Or breathe. He stands up quickly from the table.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “Can I use your bathroom?”

Barry points up the stairs to the first door on the left; Magnus hurries upwards and flings it open. He barely has chance to bolt the door before ducking down in front of the toilet, opening up his mouth and throwing up all over his own beard and necktie. His diet hasn’t been great since he left, and now it shows; Magnus stomach churns with anxiety as he kneels there, slick hands griping desperately at the toilet bowl, the tiled floor cold and indifferent beneath his knees. His throws up again, more quietly this time, and then he stands, untying the necktie and crumpling it in his fist. He staggers over towards the sink and looks up into the medicine cabinet hanging just above it. There’s a mirror there, and the face reflected back at him does not look like his. Magnus looks _haggard_. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his whole face looks beaten in with exhaustion – and fear. So much fear. He hadn’t realised how obvious it looked. No wonder Taako had asked him if he was OK – Magnus looks on the brink of death. So very close to tipping point. Magnus ducks his head and turns on the tap.

The water is refreshing, vibrant. Magnus can’t remember the last time he washed his face in the sink of somewhere that wasn’t a gas station. Somewhere that wasn’t revolting. It feels like returning something important to the very heart of him. A cleansing fire released back into the earth.

His dries his face on what he hopes is a shared towel, straightens up and tosses his necktie into the trashcan standing at the foot of the shower – then retrieves it. It doesn’t matter, really, how disgusting it looks; Julia gave it to him, and he can’t just discard it like that. Magnus sticks the square of red fabric back under the flow of the tap and cleans it the best he can, rinses it and shoves it into his pocket. He glances again at the mirror. Still sick. Still tired. But no longer dying. Magnus can live to fight another day, if he chooses to.

If he chooses to.

A scape of his beard. A long, world-weary sigh. The world isn’t finished with him yet, Magnus thinks. He might as well continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sporadic update number two! Sorry, Magnus. It gets better.
> 
> Thank you for leaving comments/kudos! <3


	4. Safety in Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako dines. Magnus sleeps.

When Magnus goes back downstairs, Taako is sat down at the table with Lup and Barry and is moving with enthusiasm through a plate of empanadas and a bowl of what looks to be some kind of chicken soup. There’s a place set for Magnus too, and as he approaches the table Taako’s sister turns to him and gestures towards the chair – then stops.

“Geez,” she says, and Magnus’s insides plummet, knowing how he must look, unwashed and underfed, empty of heart and empty of stomach, “You look rough, bud.”

Magnus slides into the remaining chair. His coffee is still on the table. He reaches for it gingerly and glances down at the bowl in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. The soup is chicken and enchilada. He points to it, eager to change the subject. “Is this mine?”

Lup leans back in her chair, eyes drifting sideways to watch Taako with obvious delight. “Yup,” she says. “Just a little something, but I’m sure you’ll manage. Barry and I have already eaten. I take it I haven’t lost my touch?” she adds, turning fully to face Taako as he shovels another handful of food into his mouth with a greedy smile of his own. At Lup’s remark, he almost snorts the soup back into the bowl.

“Not a patch on mine, Lulu,” he says, arching his eyebrows. His eyes slide sideways to look at Magnus. If he notices a change in him, he doesn’t comment. “But I’m sure it’ll do for the big man.”

Insides twinging slightly, Magnus reaches forwards to pick up one of Lup and Barry’s dainty silver spoons. He’s never been great at table manners – Julia preferred to eat on the couch where she was most comfortable, or in her bedroom, by the end, and even then it was only to two of them, her father downstairs and her mother in the conservatory—

This is the third or fourth time he’s thought something like this since he left the bathroom. Carefully, Magnus reins in his thoughts and allows muscle memory to guide him, propelling each and every spiral with a counter one, a small thought, seething and writhing between his ribs. It’s a poor defence, but for now it’ll have to do.

_She’s gone._

_But not completely._

_You’re never going to see her again._

_I will one day._

The sheer amount of _taste_ within the food is the first thing that knocks him out of his reverie. The second thing – at least he thinks – is the distinct twang of Taako’s voice as he says, “I think we’re gonna sleep here tonight.”

Magnus looks up from the soup. “What?” he asks. He glances sideways at Lup and Barry in turn; they don’t look nearly as shocked as he feels, he thinks. In fact, they seem as if they’ve been expecting it, expecting the way in which Taako invites himself, forever and always, over into the threshold of others’ lives. This is what makes Taako Taako, Magnus thinks. And this is what makes him him.

(But then, it _is_ his twin sister.)

Barry glances at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We have a couple of guest rooms. Taako… used to spend time here quite a bit. So it’s all good.” He stands up, glancing down at Magnus’ half-empty bowl. “Do you want… are you full?”

Magnus nods numbly. There’s something strange about this arrangement, he thinks. Something odd about the way Lup and Barry move, around him, around Taako, as if they’re walking on broken eggshells around a problem he can’t quite see. Privately, Magnus hopes he doesn’t have to. It’s not until Lup speaks that he realises it’s not an option.

“Barry, would you help Taako grab his stuff? I want to have a word with Magnus.”

Ah. There’s the snag. Magnus watches as Taako and Barry exchange brief but furtive glances, then Taako stands up from his chair. “You got it,” he says, glancing down at his empty plate and bowl. “Come on, Barold. I brought you a present.”

They leave the room swiftly and abruptly. In his chair, Magnus swallows. Bile rises up quickly into his throat, barely processed. Lup reaches out a hand to gather in the remaining bowls, then stands.

“Kitchen,” she says, authority ringing high and clear throughout her voice, “Follow me.”

*

In the kitchen, Lup does three things: kneels down to pack the bowls and plates carefully into the dishwasher, clicks on the switch, and turns to him with an indecipherable look on her face. Magnus is still trying to place it when she speaks – softly, quietly, afraid of being overheard.

“You’re not… with him, are you?”

Magnus takes an involuntary step backwards, too surprised by the topic to speak for a moment. Then, he remembers his voice.

“No.”

Lup visibly relaxes. “Oh.” she says. “Good.” She gives him a friendly cuff on the elbow – it’s the highest place she can reach. “That’s very good. I was worried.” Her eyes narrow. “Did you really invite him on a road trip?”

“He hijacked my car.”

Tension seems to slip away from Lup at every word. “Oh,” she says. “Well, that’s a little better, I suppose.” She nods at him awkwardly. “You can go upstairs now. The second guest room is the third door to the left.”

Magnus frowns at her. No other way around it: this exchange is definitely weird. “Is Taako with someone?” he asks. The words are out of his mouth before he has chance to question them. Before he has chance to think about how they sound, and how intrusive that question is.

Lup’s features twist back into a frown. She looks troubled – the same kind of troubled he thinks Taako might be, deep down in the very depths of his soul, hidden from anyone and everyone. In the background, the dishwasher hums and makes all the sounds a dishwasher should make. Lup taps a foot on the tiles beneath her feet.

“Third door to the left,” she repeats quietly, not quite looking at him. Magnus takes the hint.

*

The first thing he does is shower. He leaves his clothes out on the landing and comes back to a shirt and pair of jeans he’s fairly certain belong to Barry. Not that Barry is a large man (in height at least) but the clothes fit pretty well considering the circumstances. For now though, he changes into the one pair of pyjamas he brought with him and chose not to wear – a pair of grey sweatpants and a white sleeveless t-shirt that he could probably get away with wearing in the day-time if he didn’t already have so much shame.

Barry promised he’d have his clothes back by the time of their leaving, and really that’s all that matters – Magnus is desperate to sleep now, desperate to lay his head flat against the pillow and try to forget all of the thoughts that chatter within him like a second consciousness. Everything that has happened recently – the other cars on the motorway, the bathroom fiasco, the meal, his conversation with Lup – is suddenly too much for him; he stumbles towards the room now made his and forces the door shut behind him, chest heaving and heart pounding with the effort of being alive. What a miracle his body is, all these synapses and muscles, how much it has been through. Magnus has put his body through so much without a thought for what it might achieve later – in a way, he feels as if he owes his bones an apology. A promise to do better. But he knows he could never keep it. Magnus’ recklessness is embedded in him, a sliver of protection against the criticism he receives constantly from others. Magnus doesn’t have to listen. Magnus is his own machine.

He flicks off the lights and clambers into bed – the first bed he’s slept in since leaving. It’s also probably the last, but Magnus chooses easily not to think about that, his thoughts slowing and slurring as he drifts off into an uneasy sleep, scarred mind guided faithfully by the square of red clutched tightly in his fist.

It isn’t until halfway into the morning that he remembers the funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter is shorter than the last three, but hey. Sometimes that’s just how things go.
> 
> Bonus points to whoever can guess what Taako is running from. It’s a very Taako thing to do.


	5. In The Early Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst the rest of the house sleeps, Magnus takes a walk. Taako is unsettled.

At two in the morning, Magnus is woken by visions of things he would rather forget. Memories that swirl like wasps round the edges of his mind, invading those recesses within the darkness, crawling deep into his ears and settling in the emptiness. Restlessly, Magnus shakes himself and turns over onto his side – but it’s too late. He is already awake now, shaken out of sleep by the faces his unconsciousness has thrown at him. Visions of Julia, mostly. But her father is there too. In the dream, Magnus thinks hazily, he had been cursing at Magnus for something he had done, something terrible, something unforgivable—

And, with a jolt, Magnus remembers.

Yesterday was the day of the funeral.

Yesterday, Julia was buried.

Yesterday, despite all his overthinking, Magnus had not thought about that at all.

The revelation is one that shakes him right down to his very core. Every sinuous joint and join stiffens as a wave of fear passes through him, then fades, then returns again with a bolt of nausea. He sits up in bed and fumbles for the light of the bedside lamp beside him, switches it on then switches it off again. The light is too bright. Magnus doesn’t want to look at himself now. Doesn’t want to see his hands lying restless in his lap. The hands that had helped, and mended, and uplifted. The hands that had left Julia to be buried on her own. He, the love of her life, sleeping in a stranger’s house thousands of miles away. Magnus’ arteries bloom with sudden pain. His chest tightens, then relaxes. A ghostly hand – Julia’s, perhaps – reaches deep into his chest and squeezes at his heart. For one single, shining moment, Magnus truly believes that he is going to die.

The moment passes. The stars shine and the house shivers. Floorboards creak and the water pipes groan. Magnus pushes himself up from the bed but leaves his stone heart behind him as he walks, slowly, purposefully, towards the door and out of the room. He can’t stay here, in this close-knit place. What he really needs is air. And then perhaps a glass of cold water.

And then perhaps a strong-armed punch, right in the middle of his stomach. Right in the centre of his heart.

The hallway is dark and inexplicably quiet. Magnus pads breathlessly across the landing, afraid, suddenly, of disturbing the bellows of a creature so self-satisfied and silent. Houses should not be used at night. At night, when ghosts walk and spirit-women wander. Everything is transformed by the darkness. Even him.

He doesn’t bother to switch on the kitchen light. There’s no need. Faint shimmers of light are falling softly through the wide-benched windows on the opposite side of the room, lending depth to the huddles of cutlery and crockery standing uniform in the drainer. High above the white-painted frames, a full moon gleams. The end of a month. And, for Magnus, the end of a long, sad-sweet era. An era of hope, and all that hope became.

He steps forward towards the sink and hears the walls behind him gasp.

“Magnus!”

He starts and turns around. Taako is stood half-huddled in the darkest shadows of the kitchen, somewhere by the counter, a glass of water clutched in one thin-fingered hand. The glass is mostly empty. In his shock, Taako appears to have spilt most of it all over the floorboards.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Taako hisses, petty anger electrifying every line of his face. Too late, Magnus realises what he must look like in the half-light – one solid, looming mass of darkness, shoulders broad and hands like dustbin lids. Taako is so very small in comparison. It’s almost ridiculous.

Almost ridiculous. Taako looks just about ready to spit fireballs at him.

Magnus lowers his head. “I wanted a drink,” he says, feeling suddenly foolish. He watches with caution as Taako sets down the glass on the sideboard and reaches into the cupboard for a tea towel, bending down with muted arrogance to mop up his slight spasm of indecision. It gives Magnus a strange feeling of disquiet to watch him, and he finds himself fighting the urge to look away; this is not something anyone but Taako should witness, he thinks. But suddenly, Magnus is witnessing it too.

At last, Taako turns and glares at him and snarls, “Well, go on then. Get yourself a drink. I’m not holding you back, am I?”

Magnus takes the smallest of small steps backwards. “I’m sorry,” he says, as humbly as he possibly can, “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

Taako growls at him, his eyes flashing like daggers. “You _didn’t_ make me jump, you piece of—” He breathes in sharply and exhales through his nose. “Why are you awake?” he asks bluntly, sticking out his chin, as if he doesn’t expect Magnus to answer him. Magnus doesn’t expect to either. But for some reason, he does.

“I had a bad dream,” he says, hoping that his voice doesn’t sound as pathetic as he thinks it does. The statement is laughable anyway. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Taako deflates suddenly – in a remarkably similar fashion to Lup, he thinks. Guardedly, he lifts his eyes to Magnus and mutters, “You talk in your sleep.”

Magnus gives a surprised start. “What?” he asks. Then, he remembers the first night of their journey. Taako, curled up but not sleeping, half-glazed eyes staring listlessly out into the dark. Magnus looks at him now and studies the purple shadows that bloom like bruises across the lower half of his eye sockets. He hadn’t slept then, Magnus thinks, and he probably hasn’t slept properly since. Only now, wide-awake and staring unblinkered into the dark, does he see it.

They are both damaged. They are both tired. But Taako—

Taako is fractured in more ways than one.

He sees Magnus looking at him and turns his head away, back toward the half-empty glass standing alone on the wooden tabletop. He hands it to Magnus, who rinses it and refills it and hands it back to him in silence. Then, he fills another glass for himself. They stand like that for a moment, awkwardly holding on to two twinkling pieces of Lup’s least favourite wedding present, and then Taako speaks, the sad rumble of his voice ill-used and inconsistent.

“You’re not the only one running from someone, bubbaleh.” he says quietly, tilting the water inside his glass idly back and forth before taking another sip. The sigh he expels is lengthy and quite terrible, like rock grinding against rock. Magnus can’t help but notice how they’ve moved back into the territory of de-personalised nicknames. Then Taako adds, “We’re all running from something, I guess.”

Fuck. There’s real emotion in Taako’s voice now, a preamble to something that Magnus doesn’t quite want to face. He can barely cope carrying his own leaded heart alongside him, never mind another’s.

But then, Magnus thinks, his own heart has been left churning and pleading in his room. It won’t hurt to comfort someone who isn’t Julia for a change. He takes the risk.

As soon as he lays a hand across Taako’s shoulders, Magnus knows he’s made a mistake. Taako instantly stiffens, arching his shoulders like a tamed cat turned savage, his free arm whipping forwards and catching Magnus in the chest. It’s extreme, but it’s also very Taako. Magnus steps back with his head bowed.

“Fuck you,” Taako spits. His voice is low, dangerous. In some respects, it borders on hysterical. Magnus sets his glass of water (undrunk) back down on the sideboard and fiddles nervously with his hands.

“Taako—”

“Shut the hell up,” he hisses. Magnus takes a second step backwards. Taako is small in stature, sure, but in this moment his face alone is enough to make him as intimidating as hell. “Don’t you dare get sentimental on me, Magnus. Nobody touches me unless I want them to. And I fucking mean it.”

Magnus’ grimace is hidden in the darkness. In some ways, he is grateful for it. “I understand,” he says, his voice almost baritone. “I’m sorry, Taako.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taako spits. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

Magnus looks at him sadly. “Don’t you sleep, Taako?” he asks. Taako makes a noise like the sound of a starting pistol.

“None of your business,” he repeats stubbornly, his shoulders hunched. This time, it’s Magnus’ turn to sigh.

“You need rest.”

“I need peace,” Taako snaps, “and quiet. Can’t imagine how I’m supposed to get it with you around,” he adds tartly, and Magnus looks at him, suddenly every inch as exasperated as Lup was earlier.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says, even as Taako snorts and tosses his head sideways. His long blond hair is piled loosely atop his head in a bun. Magnus can see marks of anguish scraped into the base of his chin; red welts where Taako has dug his fingers into cheekbones and jawline, frustrated beyond measure at his ability to co-operate and be controlled. Magnus’ fists clench in sympathy.

Taako’s eyes glint again as Magnus opens his mouth. But the words that escape him are anything but angry. They’re sad and peppered with pleading. Tension fills Magnus’ arms and legs. His heartbeat redoubles. His head hurts.

“I don’t want you to help me,” Taako says, withered and defeated. He slumps back against the counter, every inch of anger inside him unravelling suddenly like a spool of crimson silk. “I don’t need you to help me.”

Magnus reaches forward to pluck the glass out of his hands, setting it down alongside his own. Taako’s empty fingers squeeze at the air around him but he doesn’t object.

“Sit down,” Magnus says simply, his eyes drifting in the direction of the sitting room. “Sit back. Try not to think. Being tired makes everything worse.” He reaches out a tentative hand to place atop Taako’s shoulder. When he doesn’t react, Magnus says, “I’m taking you into the sitting room.”

And he steers Taako in the direction of the lounge with all the manner and distinction of a parent and their child.

Taako looks at the sofa, then sits on it. Then lies down. Then closes his eyes. He looks up as Magnus drags a dark purple blanket from the corner of the room and drapes it loosely across his shoulders. Taako’s fevered eyes are burning with tiredness.

“Sleep,” Magnus advises. His stone heart is calling to him from the bedroom; Magnus squats down by the couch’s edge and ignores the pounding in his bloodstream. He hurts so much. “Nothing can hurt you here, Taako.”

Taako makes a muffled sound of disagreement, too tired to argue, Magnus thinks. Or hopes. His own breathing is laboured, but Taako’s is slowing now, slowly, gently…

He’s asleep. Magnus knows it. He stands up and hovers there for a moment, then moves back towards the kitchen and empties the glasses that stand lonely by the drainer. He puts them in the rack, then turns back towards the stairwell. He is no less exhausted, but his mind is… different now. Less focused on Julia and more focused on his own life. His own concerns. His own friends.

Taako won’t ever speak of this again, Magnus thinks. He knows this. He knows it and believes it. He doesn’t know whether he should be happy about that or not. The fact of the matter is, the two of them are bound now, by a road trip, by a shared experience, and nothing can ever separate them out again. But Magnus is aware of it, now. Aware of Taako’s cracks and flaws and vices, and everything in between. It is not a good thing to know, but he knows it. He knows it and he carries it.

He looks again into the sitting room. Taako breathes easy from beneath a blanket and a small smattering of pillows. At peace, for a time. Magnus shudders and ascends the stairs to the guest room.

Somehow, despite everything else, he still can’t get the idea of Taako hearing him dream off his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just out of curiosity... What kinds of chapter lengths do folks prefer? I usually stick to about 1-2k, but I feel like I may have to lengthen things slightly when it comes to keeping up the pace of this fic. Longer chapters mean slower updates, however, so I suppose it depends. I dunno.
> 
> Taako is resistant to feelings. If I learned nothing else writing this, I definitely learnt this.
> 
> Comments/kudos/feedback is always appreciated! Especially right now, when the sads are so intense haha~


	6. Holidaying Briefly in Their Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako makes preparations. Magnus makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The furthest distances I’ve travelled  
> have been those between people. And what survives  
> of holidaying briefly in their lives.
> 
> – “The Furthest Distances I’ve Travelled” by Leontia Flynn

They stay for longer than Magnus could’ve expected. Two, maybe three days. On the one hand, he’s surprised that Taako hasn’t already gone away without them, without any of them, but then again…

Taako is the kind of person that needs people – not that he would admit it. But Magnus knows that it’s true. All this way they’ve travelled together, and at long last he can finally see the essence of it: they are both lonely. They are both afraid. But they are also willing. Even if Taako would never dare to admit to that either.

In the days between their coming and leaving, Magnus prepares. He wanders down to the shops in a stranger’s clothes and returns with several armfuls of his own. T-shirts. Jeans. Sandals, for the hot days. What money he has brought with him is almost entirely spent now, but Taako has already said he will pay for the gas and the food. Real food, he warns Magnus with a catatonic glare, and Magnus is quick to deflect the sentiment, that he is neither eating nor caring for himself as he should. Magnus’ will to look after himself is tepid at best. But if Taako wants to feed him, well, he supposes he has no other choice. It’s not really a hard one – everything Taako cooks tastes like gold dust, fresh and new and delightful. All Magnus has to do is begin. Begin and continue until the plate is clean. Most days he manages it. But there are some where he doesn’t. Taako is keen to notice those, as is Lup. Barry keeps to himself, but Magnus can’t help but think the three of them are overwhelmingly aware of what beast slumbers within their walls, gnawing at their food, taking slowly from their reservoir. Magnus’ heart is rarely still in the presence of so much activity. He remembers more often, and sometimes too much. There is so much to remember. The world is made from the dust trails it creates.

Sitting down at the dinner table between Lup and Barry, Taako opposite, Magnus remembers her laugh. Remembers the curve of her smile, the contours of her golden eyes. The way in which her hair fell like ocean-frothed waves from her shoulders. Or how it used to. Julia hadn’t looked like Julia by the end. Not that it mattered. She was still herself, up until the last minute. And that laugh—

Well. The laugh was always the same.

Lying in bed at night is just as difficult. He has less to do in those moments, less to fumble with and make shapes out of. Night is a different place. A liminal stretch. A wanderer’s keep. He twists his hands together in the darkness and wonders what death is like, tentatively, and then with something like longing. Magnus knows he should not want it. Should never, ever crave death in any form. But he does. In the interim between dusk and dawn, Magnus curls over himself on the mattress and carves a fingernail against the innermost workings of his chest, imagining what it would be like to cease breathing, to never smile again. To be with her, and feel her arms around him.

Domesticity is bad for Magnus. He didn’t know it then, but he knows it now. He is not a man to be contained by shape and shape alone. Honed like wood until his knuckles bleed. Magnus is a wanderer, a marauder by trade.

If only he could’ve been enough to fix her. If only. If only.

*

True to Magnus’ intuition, Taako does not speak of what went on between them in the kitchen. He acknowledges Magnus, in his own strange, echo-like way, but he does not interact. They talk, but only about the small things. The weather and the trees and the colours of the sky. A plate of carne guisada that turned out particularly well, spices strident and beef spoon-soft. A checklist as long as Taako’s forearm, preparation for the journey ahead. These are Magnus’ mementos, he thinks. His souvenirs of a life long gone. Food and water, clothing and underclothing. This are the things he will bring. This is what will sail with them into the next life. The next stage of a journey ill-tread. Something ordinary transformed into the extraordinary. For Taako, it’s not just about the food. For Magnus, it is not only about the destination. It is about the roads they will take to get there, walking, running or sleeping in the back of a sweating convertible. The roads they avoid, and the roads they take pleasurably. The roads they end up driving down by accident.

The day they leave Lup and Barry’s house, the sky is golden bright. The sun shines down directly onto Magnus’ broad back as he troupes back and forth from the car to the house and back again, depositing everything they will ever need and more into the trunk. Flasks and bowls and spoons and batteries, blankets and onions and a small barbecue Taako swears he can get working in any weather. All of it goes into the car. And by the end of it, Magnus is exhausted. He slumps back against the wall of the house, barely comprehensible as he watches Taako drift forward with a basket of food in his arms (a collective gift from Lup and Barry, but then all of it is really), depositing it in the back seat and shuffling in alongside it. The windows are wound down, turning liquid in the heat, and through the half-glass Magnus sees Taako laying out and counting each ingredient with frightening regularity, lining up each mottled potato alongside a small glass jar of spice. This isn’t the first time Magnus has seen him perform this deed. Taako’s recipe book is also in the car. Why he keeps it at Lup’s house and not his own Magnus has no idea. But then, Taako is a strange creature. Magnus doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone else so fond of the ‘just because’ before this day. Moving from place to place with Taako feels like moving house. Going home. Fleeing north. It does not, he thinks, feel like an ending, but a beginning. A hint of what is to come.

Magnus straightens up and glances sideways at the house in front of him. It has become familiar now, if not truly homely. The people here certainly are. It’s just him that’s the problem. Magnus, the troublemaker. Always and forever the disrupter.

Dressed in brown slacks, shirt and floppy sun hat, Lup moves from the doorway to the brickwork to stand beside him, eyes shaded against the sun. The brim of her hat casts her face into shadow, but Magnus is certain that she is frowning. Then, she turns. Her eyes are narrowed into slits.

In a voice like charcoal (dark and rich and earthy, Magnus thinks, but riddled with worry nonetheless) she says, “You’ll look after him now, won’t you Magnus?”

Magnus raises his eyebrows and blinks, once, then twice more. Three times in all. “Does he need looking after?” he asks. Lup raises her own eyebrow, sharp and pencil-thin. Whip-like.

“I think you know the answer to that,” she replies meaningfully, tilting her head towards the ground. She traces the tile pattern with the edge of her sandal. “He’s fragile, Magnus.”

“I know.”

“Something broke him,” Lup says, watching as Taako tucks the vegetables and spices and freeze-dried milk sachets back into the box at his feet, legs crossed and mouth clenched, “I don’t know what. I have an idea, but it’s not much of one.”

For a moment, Magnus thinks that Lup sounds… angry. Then, he realises that it is disappointment. He lifts his gaze carefully to hers.

“This person,” he queries in a low voice, in case Taako should hear him, “the person he was with. They’re not… anymore?”

Lup shakes her head, the wide brim of her hat falling low across her eyes. She strokes absently at her hair. So like and unlike Julia’s. “He left him,” she says, eyes glazing over like that of first frost, of cloudiness and immortality, “Taako, I mean. We haven’t heard – he was engaged,” she says carefully, sifting and measuring, cutting out the words into delicate shapes, soft and fragile and snowflake-shaped. “I’ve tried to talk to him about it but he won’t listen. Has no interest in calling him, or seeking out a second chance. I’m worried it might be over between them.”

Of course, Magnus thinks. It would make sense. What would anyone expect after not seeing their brother for so long, months even, having them turn up with a completely different man? Lup was right to be suspicious. The only irony was how very wrong she was.

“His fiancé,” Magnus says carefully. “What was his name?”

But Lup only shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. She looks up at him again. “You will take care of him, won’t you? Otherwise I’m afraid I’d have to hit you with my umbrella. It lives in the hallway and it’s _very_ strong.”

Magnus smiles. “Of course,” he says. He inclines his head slightly, as if making a vow. An unbreakable contract between one lost soul and the next. A bond between strangers. Like a shared newspaper or train station seat. He looks Lup dead in the eye. “I promise.”

Lup snorts. “Good,” she says. “Keep him close, Magnus.” Like her twin, she’s not used to being sincere. It only makes Magnus appreciate her all the more. “And keep yourself close too. I have a feeling you’ll be in need of it by the end of all this.”

Magnus blinks at her, bemused by degrees. “And why is that?” he asks.

Lup’s sigh is loud enough to extinguish supernovas. She steeples her hands together and holds them to her face, then mumbles with soft incoherency, “His name is Kravitz.”

“What?”

Lup pulls her fingers away and turns to face him fully, hands on her hips, hat swinging wildly atop her head. In this moment, she looks undefeatable. But she also looks afraid. Her eyes slide sideways to glance at Taako, now closing the trunk of the car and climbing into the side seat, not watching, for once in his life, all that goes on in the periphery. Magnus continues to look at Lup. Her eyes are hypnotic. He can’t look away.

“Find him, Magnus.” she says, a thousand stars echoing within her lungs, “Bring him home. Save Taako. For his own sake. He needs it more than he knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sporadic update! Sorry about the inconsistency; I’ve just finished working on a 46k coffee shop AU that needed a *lot* of editing haha. I don’t know why I do it, but hey. Candlenights must as Candlenights must.
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thank you again for leaving comments/kudos - it really does mean more than I could ever express. :)


	7. Heart Like The Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus drives. Taako finds a pair of sunglasses.

As soon as Magnus settles down into the driver’s seat, Taako turns to him and asks, “What did Lup say to you?”

Magnus pauses and searches his mind for answer. Finding none (or at least, no lie good enough to satisfy Taako, who always seems to be able to tell when he’s lying) he says, “Nothing much. She asked me…” He hesitates. “…to keep an eye on you. I think she’s worried about you.”

Taako snorts and turns to face the window, muttering darkly under his breath. It sounds something like ‘don’t need help’ but Magnus knows better than to question it. His mind is still reeling from Lup’s revelation. Taako is _engaged._ Taako has someone who loves him.

And now, for whatever reason, Taako is all alone.

Well, Magnus thinks. Not completely alone. He has Magnus. Not that Magnus sees himself as much of a companion – he really isn’t – but still. He’s here. And from the looks of things, he’s going to be here until the end of time. With Taako. In this car. Not yet back on the road, but stretched out in the space between infinity. Magnus shakes himself and presses his foot against the accelerator, reversing out of Lup and Barry’s driveway and back onto the shining asphalt. Lup waves half-heartedly from the front porch. Magnus waves back. Taako slumps still further in his seat, his back bent like a mass of playing cards, backs arched and never again the same. The door closes. Magnus revs the engine. He glances down at the map splayed out across the dashboard and turns right along the road. Then left. Then right again. Taako leans his head against the half-open window and closes his eyes, but Magnus knows he isn’t asleep. He clears his throat.

“So,” he asks, trying his hardest to keep his voice light, his tone casual, “Where’d you wanna go next?”

Taako drags a hand across the beads of sweat on his forehead and stages a yawn, melting into a shrug of indifference. He’s irritated, and Magnus thinks he can understand why. “It’s your road trip, isn’t it?” he asks. “Just pick a place. Throw a piece of Gorgonzola on the map if you have to.” He curls over himself in the side seat and doesn’t say another word the entire time it takes for them to move back into the city. Magnus doesn’t prompt him. He knows what that’s like. To be full, only to become empty again.

They drive off, the sun wobbling overhead, an uneven red disk. In the silence, Magnus considers his feelings and is surprised to find how fond he is of Taako, despite his eccentricities, and finds himself smiling as Taako nods off next to him (for real this time) in the side seat, his long blond hair tangled, like usual, in a knot at the back of his head. Taako will never admit to his vulnerabilities, but Magnus knows he has them. He thinks back to that night in the kitchen and smiles again. It’s a very small smile.

 _I love you, Jules_ , he thinks. The sun rises just a little higher. Magnus presses his foot down on the accelerator and laughs a little as they zoom forwards through the dust.

_I love you, Jules._

_I hope you understand._

*

They stop at a gas station just outside Malibu. Magnus nudges Taako gently awake – Taako’s eyes start open like a timed bomb. He leaps up, stretches, and casts a general look of revulsion in Magnus’ direction. Magnus isn’t sure what he’s done, this time, until Taako says, “I can’t believe you let my fall asleep with my hair up.”

Magnus laughs. And laughs again, surprised by the simpleness of it. The noise is strange in his throat.

Taako, he notices, is surprised too.

They top up on fresh drinks and snacks and go for toilet breaks, twice each, because damn it if they’re not adults. Taako climbs back into the car and curls up like a cat; Magnus restocks the cupholders and glances back at the back seat full of chip packets and torn-up bits of the barbecue instruction manual.

“Taako?” he asks. “You wanna sleep in the back?”

Taako does. Taako deems the back seat relatively comfortable and falls asleep instantly, Magnus’ red tartan blanket wrapped securely around him. It fits him pretty well. Magnus smiles as he glances back at him in the mirror and hums under his breath as they drive along the road – he’s got a destination in mind, though he has not idea if it’s the right one. But isn’t that the point of a road trip? Never knowing if you’re right until the end of it? To hell with it. They’re going, and that’s all there is to it.

Days like this are made for travelling.

*

Taako wakes when the engine cuts out. He sits up in his seat, rubbing at his eyes, and asks, “Where are we?”

“El Matador beach,” Magnus answers. He can smell the salt even now. Behind him, Taako sits up in his seat.

“Huh,” Taako says. “OK.”

They get out of the car. Magnus peers down at the mass of sand and shingle beneath them. The tide is out – way out, in fact, the waves so distant that the entire beach looks like one long, solid mass of flaxen – and it’s roughly mid- to late-afternoon. The sky is thick with sunshine, but the beach, surprisingly, isn’t that crowded. Magnus supposes it’s the temperature. He turns to lock the car door and finds Taako standing next to him, head on one side, his arms folded. There’s a curious expression pasted across his face. He isn’t looking at Magnus.

Magnus turns his head to follow Taako’s gaze. Out in the distance, three stick figures are moving back and forth between the spray. Magnus thinks they’re tossing a beach ball back and forth between them, but he can’t be sure. This high up, everything is a blur. He stares down at the lichen that lines the cliffs, and then beyond them at the cars huddled like boxes on a rooftop. A giant’s plaything. Taako coughs.

“I brought a picnic,” he mutters. “Didn’t know it’d be so appropriate.” Another sideways glance. “I guess we can have it now.”

Magnus restrains his smile. It wouldn’t do to let Taako know how much he appreciates his cooking. He just might grow a second ego. He nods and gestures to the trunk of the car instead.

“I’ll grab the towels,” he says, just as Taako vanishes into the back seat of the car. When he emerges, Magnus notices that he’s wearing sunglasses.

“What?” Taako asks huffily, noting Magnus’ stare. “They’re very fashionable. It helps to detract from the fact that I’m a walking garbage pole without any proper shorts.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow at that. He seems to remember Taako packing twenty different kinds of clothing at _least_. But never mind. Taakos will be Taakos.

The steps leading down to the beach burn his feet – Magnus pauses to take off his sandals and enjoys the feeling of warm wood beneath his toes as he climbs down towards that mass of yellow, Taako always a few steps ahead of him. Magnus fingers the handkerchief around his neck. Clean and warm and solid. If only it still smelt like Julia.

The rock formations take his breath away. Magnus steps down onto the sand, wriggling his toes absently as he takes it all in, glancing from lichen-covered boulder to lichen-covered boulder. Beyond, the sea shimmers like a length of silver-blue silk, rippling and swirling, ebbing and flowing. It is a magnificent creature. Magnus feels humbled by its presence.

Ahead of him, Taako grumbles about there being too much sand, but he doesn’t turn away. Above them, the sun ebbs and flows again. The place is empty of visitors now; everyone appears to have already gone home, to their families, their lives, their children. The places of which they know fully and well. The emptiness is humbling. Magnus feels it down in the very marrow of his bones.

Off in the distance by the shoreline, the three figures from earlier – two children and their father, Magnus sees now – continue to frolic amongst the waves, their laughter loud and their limbs like light. Magnus watches them for a moment: one old man, one young boy and a teenage girl. Their mother is nowhere in sight, but another man – ginger, bearded, in shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt – sits a little way away, arms folded, a slight smile on his upturned face. Magnus sets his towel down a little way to the left of them, waving at Taako to join him. Taako grunts and follows on, his arms full of picnic basket. They eat side-by-side, watching as the colours of the evening reach up to streak the skyline, effervescent pinks and stunning blues, mixing and swirling like paint in a jam jar. The sun sighs; the heat disparates. Magnus feels as if the whole world could be contained in this one place. This singular point in time. The edge of the world is a wonderful place to be. He sets down his plate and closes his eyes, drinking in the smell of salt and freedom. The world darkens. Magnus’ heart beats tentatively in his chest.

Eventually, the children stop playing and come in from the shoreline. Magnus cracks his eyes open and watches as they wander off in the direction of the ginger-haired man sat by himself by the rocks. The words they speak to him are indistinct, too far away to hear. It’s then that Magnus notices the older man is wandering in their direction. He stops about four or five feet away and asks, “Magnus?”

Magnus looks up at him – and feels his jaw slacken. He looks different, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, but… “Dr. Highchurch?”

Magnus remembers this man. He remembers because this is the man who diagnosed Julia with cancer. Who diagnosed Julia with an untreatable death sentence. He looks at Magnus now in the same way he looked at him then, sat still in that blue plastic chair, his hand intertwined with hers. They’d known for months that something was wrong – Julia had told him as much when he’d first met her – but it was only later that they found out the cause of it. A beast that had slept undetected and unchecked for months on end. A living wound.

All of it was inevitable, really, but Magnus can’t help but think that in some way this man was the beginning of it. The beginning of the end.

Taako is looking at him curiously; Magnus doesn’t look back. He stands up, brushing sand from his knees, and holds out his hand to the doctor. “Nice to see you again… sir.”

Dr Highchurch tilts his head on one side, as if trying to diagnose the picture that blinks back at him out of Magnus’s eyes. Even without a medical degree, Magnus knows that what he sees there is critical. Terminal.

God, how he hates that word.

Highchurch reaches out to clasp Magnus’s hand in his – he’s far shorter than Magnus, stocky and solid, his wild white beard – turning grey now, after everything – covering half his face and then some. Every gesture is filled with apprehension. “Call me Merle,” he says. Magnus won’t. “I…” He glances sideways at Taako. “Can I talk to you?”

The tension that stretches between them is paramount, Magnus thinks. He withdraws his hand and nods at him, then looks back at Taako. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, offering no explanation. He hasn’t introduced them to each other and doesn’t plan to. This collision is far, far too dangerous for his liking. Taako eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t comment.

“Whatever you say, big man.” he drawls.

Magnus steps away from him and into the gaping maws of the guilt this doctor contains. Then, he keeps walking. Whatever Merle has to say to him, he doesn’t want Taako to hear it. They stop several metres up the beach. Merle curls a hand around his beard and looks at him sideways. He’s not directly facing his family, but Magnus can tell he’s tracking their every move. Cautious. Like clockwork.

Sometimes, Magnus thinks, the people around you don’t ever change at all.

“So,” Merle says. He raises his eyes to Magnus but can’t quite manage it. They drop back down. “I heard there was a funeral.”

Magnus swallows. “There was.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No.”

“Why is that, Magnus?”

“I…” Magnus begins, then clamps down on his sentence. His throat is angry, as are his teeth. “Why the hell would you care? She’s gone. You weren’t even around to witness it.”

If Merle is perturbed by this sudden show of aggression, he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t even blink. He sighs a little and shuffles his feet. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He glances round at the beach. “She liked it here a lot, didn’t she?”

Magnus grits his teeth. The secret of this beach is something that no-one else is ever supposed to know. “Shut the hell up.”

But Merle ploughs on. “I’m here with my family. It’s a lovely place.” He holds up a hand as Magnus threatens to interrupt him. “Don’t spend too long remembering, Magnus.” he says. “It’ll kill you in the end.”

And then, as soon as he had arrived, Merle walks back towards his husband and his children. Magnus stands still and allows the wind the whistle through his hair, tasting salt on his tongue. He forgets where he is for a moment until a voice calls, “Mags? You OK?”

He turns to find Taako walking steadily towards him, his brow furrowed and his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. He reaches Magnus, then holds out a hand, patting him cautiously on the elbow. It’s the highest part of Magnus he can reach.

Magnus turns to look at him, blinking, and realises that his eyes are wet. His fists are clenched. Taako’s sudden sincerity only adds to the weight pressing down on him from all sides. Suffocating. Overwhelming. He shakes his head and raises a hand to his face.

“Magnus?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. Distantly, he feels Taako grab hold of his arm and steer him back towards the picnic. Magnus’ knees buckle of their own accord. Taako presses a sandwich into his hand and settles back to watch him eat it. Magnus does. The ability to move his mouth with consistency brings about some semblance of relief, and he sighs, gaze panning sideways to look at the rocks that circle them like hooded beings. Duly, he notes that both Merle and his family are now gone. The sky is darkening. The sunset has vanished. He takes another bite and swallows it with difficulty.

Eventually, Taako asks, “What did that guy say to you? Do you know him?”

Magnus’ stomach clenches as he says it, but really, it’s the only thing to say. “Family friend,” he mumbles, “and no, he didn’t say anything.” A sigh. A tug of his heart. “Nothing important, anyway.”

Taako hums in disagreement but doesn’t take the discussion any further than that. He picks up a cocktail sausage. “Revolting,” he comments, but eats it in one. Darkness presses in all around them. And somewhere amongst it, Magnus thinks he can hear the stars. Blinking and bright. One dead thing, calling to another.

Merle was right, he thinks. Julia had always loved this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. I don’t know how to write Merle. But I like to think he has a habit of speaking uncomfortable truths, even if others don’t want to hear them. Some of those truths are plant-related. No-one ever wants to hear about those.
> 
> I thought about Merle joining the road trip, but however hard I tried I couldn’t seem to get it to work. But hey. He’s here. And Davenport, if you look closely.
> 
> On that note: Magnus is very tall. Taako is very short. I like this idea very much.


	8. The Nature of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Taako find a place to say. Magnus halts. Taako loses his composure.

They don’t stay in Malibu for long. Magnus doesn’t think he would be able to anyway. He’s forgotten about how potent memories can be, how much harm they can cause in so short a time. They only came here once, twice, maybe three times at the most, when Julia was well enough to travel and happy enough to laugh. Magnus had made sure she had everything – blankets, food, a helping hand. They’d stayed in the same hotel every time, and every time it was the same – peaceful, yes, but with an undercurrent of gentle hostility, of time running between their fingers like sand in a broken glass jar. Each time they had visited, Julia had looked just a little more tired. And Magnus?

Well. Probably best not to think of how he’d felt the last time they’d come to this place.

Taako stands in the foyer of the hotel with his neck craned upwards, studying the intricacies of the plaster ceiling above them. Magnus can’t quite believe he’s allowed them both to come here, but hell if he doesn’t need new memories to cover up the old ones. This is how you rewrite time, he thinks, approaching the counter and offering up a handful of notes and some loose change. They’re only here for a night. After that, it’ll be Taako’s turn again.

For now, despite everything, despite the advice and the warnings and the dire prophecies, Magnus wants nothing more than to remember and to lavish himself in those memories. To lose himself in the ghostly scent and sight of Julia, and all that she once was here in this ethereal place. He knows he can’t. But he wants to.

There’s two rooms, side-by-side and identical down to the last lampshade cover. Taako takes the one on the left. He doesn’t say anything except goodnight, and even then his voice is muted, full of the knowledge that Magnus is hiding something, that Magnus is dangerous when alone and he would rather have no part in it. Magnus can’t berate him for that. It’s been a long day for both of them, really. Travelling isn’t the only thing with the power to leech a spirit. Emptiness is powerful too.

He closes the door to his room behind him and drops his suitcase down onto the bed, opens it, stares at it, then closes it again. A small part of him is urging him to throw it, to lift it up and across the room, shattering lamps and glass bottles and useless haberdashery in its wake, but he restrains himself, holding out a hand before snatching it back, fists shaking, eyes streaming, and then—

“Magnus?” Taako’s voice is quiet and tragic and draped in silk. It’s a mourner’s voice, somehow, and Magnus hates the parallels his brain is drawing between one moment and the next, vision flickering from the room in front of him to the funeral house and back again, one soft image superimposed atop another. He’s made noise enough that Taako has noticed his frustrations from the next _room_. He has to be better than this. He has to be quieter.

He has to be smaller, but then, Magnus has never been good at being small.

Taako doesn’t go away. He raps again at the door, more insistently this time, and says, “Magnus? Magnus, let me in.”

Magnus heaves a breath and forces his voice to sound normal. It doesn’t work. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Open the fucking door.”

Time moves in slow circles round his ankles as he turns, not wanting to obey but helpless in the face of it, the face of hope, leering and bright, so close and yet so far away—

The moment the door opens Taako is in the room, stalking forwards and grabbing hold of his wrist like it’s nothing. It’s ridiculous. Magnus is three times the size of Taako at _least_. He doesn’t have a hope in hell of moving him.

But Magnus allows himself to be moved. Some dark back pocket of his brain watches the scene from a distance as he stumbles backwards towards the bed, Taako’s matchstick frame tagging on just behind, whispering words of encouragement and desperation, accounted for only by the tangled, feral lines of his face. Taako is unsure what to do with feelings – that much has been clear from the start – but he has _no idea_ what to do with Magnus, oversized, thickset, larger-than-life Magnus, when the façade finally falls and his face falls too. Magnus doesn’t know how to help him. In almost every sense, he’s lost control of what is his and what is not.

“Magnus,” Taako says again, and suddenly Magnus is back in his body, slumped sideways against the headboard of a bed much too small for him, Taako by his side and a suitcase at the rear, Taako’s russet-brown hands clutching at Magnus’ sprawling palms, and somehow despite everything he still finds he has the time to feel absolutely _terrible_ about it. “Magnus, talk to me.”

Taako’s hands clutch at him tighter; Magnus can hardly feel it. “I’m fine,” he croaks. He looks up at Taako, thin-faced and hollow-cheeked, and the pit in his stomach deepens all the more. “I’m sorry, Taako.”

“Nope, nu-uh, apology absolutely _not_ accepted, bubbaleh.” Taako says, his eyes suddenly steel-sharp. “Just what exactly are you apologising for? Like, I know I said I wasn’t going to pry—”

“Better that you don’t,” Magnus mumbles into his chest. Taako sits up straighter, looking incensed.

“You shut the hell up! I’m being sincere. I’m _never_ sincere. The least you could do is listen to me when I’m talking.”

“Sorry.”

Taako sighs and glances away, his hands moving from Magnus’ and flexing angrily in his own lap. He glances sideways at the clock on the night stand. 6:42. He stands up and turns to face Magnus.

“Have a rest. Try not to freak. I’m gonna go and find us some food. Maybe sneak into the kitchen and cook on their behalf. Hotel food is always trash.”

All Magnus hears is that Taako is leaving him. He pushes himself up from the bed and croaks, “I want to come too.”

“Fuck you,” Taako says, without any apparent empathy. “Have a sleep, Magnus.”

“I’m coming.”

The expression that quicksilvers across Taako’s face is neither annoyance nor relief, Magnus thinks. He can’t put a name to it. Perhaps petulance? Or perhaps not. Exasperated malevolence radiates off of Taako in waves.

“Fine,” he says shortly, moving back towards the doorway. He glances sideways at the suitcase. “Bring your coat.”

*

Taako soon gives up on the concept of shop-bought food and decides that they should make something for themselves instead. Magnus isn’t quite sure how that’s going to work, unless it involves that ridiculous barbecue, but he’s happy to go along with it so long as Taako doesn’t ask any more questions about the knife buried deep in the centre of his chest or the hole that comes along with it. In his head, blood drips swiftly from the wound to the ground in steady trickles as they walk, one footstep after another, up the embankment and towards a row of brightly-patterned stall fronts Magnus can only imagine belong to some kind of market. It’s not the sort of thing he would ever go to, so there’s no way to say if it’s new or if Magnus has just never noticed it before. He settles on the latter. Over the years, Magnus has failed to notice so many things. The cancer growing inside of Julia was only ever one of them.

The hole growing slowly inside of himself was only ever another.

Most of the food being sold is already cooked – barbecued meat speared on sticks, freshly-turned bread still warm from the oven, red-hot rice dishes peppered by onions and diced tomatoes. Taako walks proudly ahead of him, dressed in a long two-tailed black coat that is most definitely Lup’s. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is just how Taako lives.

At last, they stop at a food stall that seems to meet Taako’s standards. Fresh fruit and vegetables line the boxes in front of them, barely a day fresh, and each and every one of them is as bright as something waxed and artificial. Taako picks out several tomatoes and an onion or two and then moves on through the crowd. He’s so hasty that Magnus has to jog to catch up to him.

“Everything OK?” he asks. Taako gives him a sideways glance, as if double-checking that Magnus is still himself, then nods. He looks down at the shopping bag in his hands with something a little like dejection.

“You sure you like my cooking, Mags?”

Magnus frowns, turning sideways to avoid bumping into the whorl of strangers that buzz and bumble all around them. Taako looks incredibly small in such a big crowd. Magnus, by comparison, looks like a lamppost. A boulder. An immovable man.

“Of course,” he says, traces of earlier tears cracking on his face as he smiles. He’d forgotten to wash his face before he left, but hell, this is their road trip, their magnum opus. They’re allowed to be a little uncouth and under-groomed.

Well. Magnus is. Taako seems to hold himself to an altogether different standard. Magnus wouldn’t call it indifference exactly, but…

Taako is slow to react to himself in the same way that Magnus is afraid to eat and be solid. Somewhere along the way, both of them appear to have lost some form of motivation to continue on as they once had. And now, here in this marketplace, it’s happening again.

Magnus reaches out to grab hold of Taako’s and directs them both into an alleyway. On their way towards it, someone harsh and round-shouldered shoves their way into Magnus’s midriff, eager to parse their way through the crowds. They look familiar, as if Magnus has seen them someone before – heading one of the stalls, perhaps. And in that instance, Magnus observes two things: the spasm of Taako’s hand as he grips Magnus tighter and then tighter still, and the small, snide laugh of the man as he continues on through the crowd, well-combed hair glinting in the last dregs of the evening light. It’s an endlessly unkind sound, but Magnus reacts to Taako first, pulling him forwards and into the safety of shadows where two tall metallic buildings meet.

At the first hint of darkness, Taako pulls himself away from Magnus and slides down against the wall, ignorant – or perhaps just uncaring – of the rubbish strewn out across the alleyway and the smell that rises with it. His eyes stare wildly into the open and his shoulders are shaking like snow-showers. Magnus lowers himself down onto the ground beside him and speaks as gently as he is able to. Magnus’ whispers are never quite whispers, somehow.

“Taako?” he says, reaching sideways to clasp at one of his hands. “Taako, you’re OK. I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Taako shakes him off with a fierce jerk of his shoulder. Magnus sits back and does not try again. The fact that he wants to is made irrelevant by violence.

“Nothing,” Taako says, clenching his fists and hissing through his teeth. Magnus wishes he weren’t around to observe this too. “I’m completely fine. Leave me alone.”

Magnus almost laughs but claws it back. Is this how they plan to do things for the rest of their time together? Saying nothing, denying everything? Both of them are so secretive and ridiculous – it’s the perfect combination of traits for two people on a road trip, really. They can do anything together, so long as they never speak of it. Anything can be said between them, because at the end of the day they’ll find themselves too embarrassed to admit it to anybody else. This is what they have become, in all this driftwork, in all this shallow stone. Two bodies empty of purpose and will. Magnus can barely stand to think of it. He reaches out a second hand and places it close to where Taako’s fragile fingers splay, grasping pointlessly at the grubby concrete beneath.

“I’ll tell you mine,” he offers, staring up at the opposite wall in front of them, “If you tell me yours.”

It’s ridiculous, this trading of secrets. It shouldn’t have to happen but it happens anyway. Magnus wonders when his life became so much like a kaleidoscope. It couldn’t’ve been that long ago.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Taako says gruffly, significantly calmer now, reaching up to wrap his arms around his chest and remaining there, suspended between one reality and the next. Magnus stands slowly and picks up Taako’s shopping bag. Taako’s eyes follow him all the while.

“You coming?”

Taako heaves himself up from the floor and considers the state of his coat tails, then apparently decides that it doesn’t matter, snatching back the paper bag from Magnus’ arms and grasping at it tightly. He glowers at Magnus with a fierceness that Magnus cannot quite believe – Magnus cannot look at Taako truly and see anger there, not after seeing sadness in it for so long a time. Perhaps on some level, Taako’s anger and sadness are one and the same. In regards to himself, Magnus knows with certainty that it is true.

They limp back to the hotel in silence, the colours of the late-night city at odds with how Magnus seems to see the world – no amount of glitz and glamour will change his opinion on this day as he has witnessed it. There’s too much to observe, here in this sprawling place, so Magnus simply switches his brain off, forgetting for once, how to be human in a sea of never-ending faces. It doesn’t help, but it doesn’t exactly hurt, either.

Sometimes, it’s much easier to fade out than fade in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updates! I’ll admit, I’ve been avoiding writing this chapter because I wasn’t quite sure how to execute it. But hey. It’s not as bad as I feared. Just in case the subtext wasn’t clear enough, it’s Sazed that Taako bumps into at the market. That nasty, nasty man. Magnus is right to worry about Taako.
> 
> I listened to [this](https://soundcloud.com/iamreeder/sets/it-is-the-nature-of-dreams-to-end) quite a bit whilst writing this chapter. Reeder’s music is absolutely fantastic and I recommend you give it a listen if you haven’t already.
> 
> Thank you for leaving comments/kudos! I hope you all have a very happy new year! <3


	9. Yellow Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako suggests a new destination. Magnus tries his best to keep his thoughts to himself.

Magnus puts down the newspaper advertisement in his hands and looks up at Taako. “A railway exhibition? Really?”

Taako bites down on a piece of toast and shrugs, saying nothing. Ordering breakfast in their respective rooms had seemed like a relatively good idea at the time – that is, until Taako had sidled his way into Magnus’ carrying more eggs than any man should ever be able to consume. Naturally, Magnus had felt very inclined to help him. He regrets that decision now.

“Taako,” he says, watching as he downs yet slice of toast. The map spread out on the bed in front of him is incredibly daunting. “It’s almost six hours away. Seven if you want to pass through—”

Taako cuts him off before he can finish. “It’s fine, bubbaleh.” he says, waving his hands. “If you don’t want to, we can pick somewhere else.”

“I never said I didn’t _want_ to—”

“We could take shifts?” Taako offers. He’s been unusually pleasant for most of the morning – Magnus can’t help but think that it’s a culmination of yesterday’s events. He still doesn’t know who that other man was, other than a simple store owner; each time he’d asked, Taako had blatantly refused to speak to him and on one occasion had even feigned deafness. Eventually, Magnus had given up on trying altogether. But now…

Well. Taako might seem intent on pretending like it never happened, but Magnus knows the truth of it. He wants to know what happened to Magnus every bit as much as Magnus wants to know about what happened to him. It’s a confusing puzzle. The only downside is that it requires one of them to speak out first. Somehow, Magnus knows it will be him. Taako, by contrast, is allergic to the truth. Magnus sits up and folds the newspaper in two.

“Let’s do it,” he says, glancing over at Taako’s slowly diminishing plate of toast. It looks fresher than usual; Magnus can only assume that Taako broke into the kitchen and made it himself.

Or maybe not. Toast is toast, after all. But then again, this breakfast is _good_. It looks good. It tastes good. It reminds Magnus of a happier time, of happier people. A younger and less complicated him. Not many cooks can recall memories like Taako can.

Breakfast, for Magnus, in one way or another, has always been significant.

He remembers eating toast with Julia the morning of her diagnosis – she hadn’t eaten much of it, swearing all that while that _no, Magnus, it’s not your cooking I just don’t feel like it, yes, I promise,_ and then afterwards, long afterwards, sat in that hospital chair with its blue plastic legs, clinking glasses with Julia in some semblance of glory by way of marking the old year’s end. They’d drank orange juice at 3PM to welcome in the new year without a trace of irony, believing in their hearts that a miracle would occur, that Julia would get better and be home within the month. She had been so brave, that time. And the time after and the time after that. Magnus had visited her every morning with a flask and two bacon sandwiches in hand; even when she was too weak to join him, or smile alongside him in any respect, Magnus would arrive to tell her of the world beyond, to wish her a good day or night by holding her hand tightly in his. Even when she had grown too weak to keep herself awake, Magnus had smiled on her behalf. Had tried his hardest to remember her as she was, just as she had asked him to. Just as she had hoped. Obeying her last and final wish.

_Live for me, Magnus. Don’t be alone._

“Mags?”

Magnus blinks, drawing himself back into the present. This incomplete world. Taako has long-since finished eating his toast.

“Yeah, sorry.” he mutters. He stands up from the bed, glancing back at the breakfast miscellaneous they have left behind. “Get packed. If we gonna do this, we might as well do it now.”

*

Driving is a slippery business, Magnus has come to find. One moment you’re concentrating on the road, then suddenly a forklift truck is swinging wildly into your path, haunting roads thought previously to be inhabited by no-one but you. It’s alarming. Sometimes, it’s even dangerous. Taako reaches sideways to slam down on the horn, perhaps thinking Magnus has forgotten to press it. He hasn’t. He’s just polite. And surprised. Very surprised. They’re barely three hours into their journey and they’ve already almost collided with a large van, a pick-up truck and a small yellow Mini. Oh, and this forklift truck. Wherever the fuck that came from.

“Pull over,” Taako commands, just as a gas station struggles over the lip of the burning red horizon. “I wanna pee.”

Magnus does. The gas station they trundle up against looks remarkably like the one Taako was left in charge of – the dust of the desert crawls over itself in waves, lapping up against the gas pumps and the store front, as empty as old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Feral bird cries echo out into the distance. Magnus wonders how he keeps finding these places. It has to be coincidence. All of it is. Even Taako.

He chooses not to take that line of thought any further, watching Taako as he walks swiftly across the baking hot concrete, the echo of his footsteps leaving fissures in the lightning-tight air. Everything is thick and heavy, summer settling like a familiar blanket over the backs of these simple, distorted things. A tumbleweed rolls by. Magnus nods at it curtly then turns back to the steering wheel. His face is every bit as strained as the warm air blowing back into the broken air vents.

Taako had picked their next destination without any hesitation and without any preamble. His request was simple, if incongruous, and now Magnus finds himself following it. It’s doubtful that the train exhibition is significant in any way, and yet…

And yet. So much could be said to hide in that small inflection. Today, they are driving further than they have ever gone – further from Julia, further from Barry and Lup, further from that fateful general store where he and Taako first met. Magnus can’t help but think that they’re running in the opposite direction of whoever they met beneath those brightly patterned stall tops. But then, they’re also running away from Julia. And Kravitz. Whoever Kravitz might be. Magnus is still unsure on that front. Whenever he tries to picture Taako’s fiancé, he comes up short. Who on Earth could possibly compare to the enormity of the spirit that is Taako? It seems impossible, but then, judging from the speed at which Taako is running, it also seems increasingly likely that Taako has met his match. Nothing else could make Taako run. That at least is something that Magnus is sure of. What he’s not so sure of is the _why_. Why leave a place in which you are well-loved and well-remembered? At home amongst possessions and family members? Kravitz isn’t _dead_. That much, at the very least, Taako has to be thankful for. So why is he running? And why has he already run so very far? Magnus pulls himself up, realising in the same instant that in order to avoid one train of thought, he’s drifted on down another. Taako’s recent past is nothing to do with him. At all. In any shape or form. Really, Magnus should just forget what he’s heard. He doesn’t have to help Lup to help Taako. They’re just… acquaintances, really. Not friends. No, never that. Taako doesn’t do friends. Magnus isn’t even sure if he does _people_.

“You OK in there, bubbaleh?”

Dammit, Taako is so unreasonably good at this. Catching him in the moments when he is most vulnerable. Magnus leans back against the hot cloth seat, reigning in his heart, his head, his eyes. There’s a sick feeling sat stagnant in the very bottom of his stomach, and it has nothing to do with the way Taako is looking at him now. Eyes wide, mouth pursed in curiosity. Dying to ask but afraid, to a degree, of the answer. Magnus knows the feeling. He can’t think about running away without thinking of Julia. And once he starts thinking about Julia, Magnus can’t stop. There’s too much in this head of his to ever be alone with the present day. He’s lucky he’s got Taako to pull him out of it when things get too bad. Too much and all at once. Images flare behind Magnus’ retinas, searing bright – he blinks, but the thought of them doesn’t fade. There’s a coarse taste in his mouth that closely resembles metal. Or blood. Or both. Metal and blood aren’t so different, really. Magnus’ stomach heaves to the left.

“Magnus,” Taako repeats. It sounds like he’s singing. “Mags. Mango. Maggie. You have to stop doing this, you know. It’s really rude. Downright insulting to my character is what it is. You wanna take a spell in the passenger’s seat?”

The further away Magnus gets, the kinder Taako becomes. It’s a strange equation. He forces himself to nod and clicks open the car door.

“Slowly, bubbaleh. Don’t go too fast.”

When did they get so unerringly good at this, Magnus wonders? So good at navigating each others’ thoughts, each others’ spirals, without ever really talking about it? The usual buzzing envelopes Magnus’ ears, then, and he forces himself to stop thinking, body jerking like an automaton as he sits down in the passenger’s seat, phlegm clinging to his airways like a triumphant, unerring disease. Taako reaches over to clip Magnus’s seat belt into place, and for the first time, Magnus doesn’t mind. Doesn’t feel ashamed at having someone else do something on his behalf, or try to understand the implications of a friendship that adheres to such loose boundaries. Taako is helping. Taako wants to help. For now, that will have to be enough. Magnus should not search for endless reasons simply because his brain tells him so. The world exists because it exists. And the two of them are here together because it is so. There is nothing more than that to learn, really. Magnus leans sideways, pressing the side of his face up against the window, hoping that the coolness of the glass will be enough to relieve him of this sudden stupor. Despite the shivering warmth that cradles them, the glass remains cold. Magnus closes his eyes as the engine growls into life beneath his feet, and allows himself to imagine. Beside him, Taako chuckles briefly. It sounds ever-so-slightly relieved.

“That’s it, Maggie. Take it slow. We’re halfway there.”

Halfway there. Halfway to the train exhibition, certainly. But the wistfulness in Taako’s voice seems to suggest something more. Halfway to their destination. Halfway out of the dark. And halfway into the light.

Yes, that’s it. Halfway into the light. Everything takes time, Magnus thinks, but everything progresses, too. Everything is in the middle of something else, and everything will right itself before long. Goodness has never failed him before – with one morbid exception. But then again…

He drops off before he can finish the thought. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Despite the sarcasm and the nicknames, Taako remains genuine. And he also remains right.

Halfway out of the dark. In some ways, it’s already more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! I am *very* excited about this next destination.


	10. No Lodging For The Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Taako take some time off. Taako talks. Magnus listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In a god-fearing land, there ain’t no lodging for the mad;  
> you can't get high enough to breathe before you drown.”
> 
> – No Lodging For The Mad, The Taxpayers

They stop not long after the daylight fades. Taako pulls over onto a rough patch of ground, the car groaning quietly underfoot. Then, he swings open the car door and steps out into the star-patterned night. There isn’t a breath of wind. Magnus’ eyes follow him as he walks around to the back. There’s a faint hissing sound as the trunk pops open, and then—

“You getting out any time soon, big man?”

It’s been hours since they last switched over. Taako must be exhausted. And yet, when he speaks, his voice betrays nothing. Magnus unlatches the door and steps out into the darkness. Glancing back towards a scrubby patch of bush and sand-stained trees, half-stilted and curved, always, by the grace of the summer heat, he sees Taako sat hunched over a small, incorrigible barbecue, a box of matches in one hand and a slim bottle of wine in the other. Magnus frowns. He doesn’t remember ever bringing that, but then, this _is_ Taako. And Taako, as has forever been the case, is full of surprises.

Taako pats the ground beside him, the compacted earth shivering beneath his fingers. “Sit down, bubbaleh.” he says. His eyes are cautious, round in the way they were when Magnus first found him in the depths of Lup and Barry’s kitchen. “Have a drink. Let Taako cook up something edible. I bought sausages from the last place.”

Well. That works too. Magnus drops down onto the ground beside him and feels the flatness beneath judder in response. A small earthquake, radiating outwards. It’s fine. Sometimes, it’s good to be big. He takes the bottle Taako hands to him and watches as he props the barbecue up on its spindly metal legs. Magnus has never known it possible to buy collapsible barbecues. Perhaps you still couldn’t. Perhaps this was just Taako’s way of doing things. If anyone could bend a barbecue to their own free will, well, Taako is the only one that Magnus has ever met. He just seems the type, somehow. Taako doesn’t care for the Universe’s rules in any respect. Not even gravity can hold him, sometimes.

Just as he’s thinking that, bright orange flames leapt up from beneath the grill, and Taako swears in sudden – and apparently unexpected – triumph. He throws down the matches and opens the satchel at his side, heaving a dozen barely-defrosted packages into the space between them. Sausages, as promised. Burgers too. Magnus’ stomach growls in rowdy anticipation. Beside him, Taako laughs.

“Hungry?” he asks, just as Magnus’ stomach rumbles again. Really, it would be impossible to pretend otherwise. It’s strange. He hasn’t hankered after food in _weeks_ , and now…

Well. It’s probably just Taako’s cooking. The smells that arise from his cooking would give any man cause to break his fast. But perhaps he shouldn’t have to question it. Perhaps he should just enjoy it – that warm, solid sensation of being alive. For a moment, that moment is all there is. Tough and solid and bright. Sun-worn, like Julia’s smile. In this moment, Magnus does not feel sad at all. He watches as Taako throws the burgers and sausages onto the shiny new grill, and sighs contentedly as they sizzle. Smoke rises up in spirals where they sit. Magnus leans back against that dry grassy verge and breathes in the noises of the night. All of them – the crickets, the whistle of such bare-faced trees – intermingle almost willingly with the smell of Taako’s cooking. It’s a heavenly night.

Taako cooks sausages, burgers and then some. A handful of roasting herbs find their way onto the fire, and their scent fills the night like heavenly purple charcoal. In the interim, Taako scatters a handful of clams over the flames, soaked in paprika and softly melting butter. Chicken follows. Then tofu.

In the distance, city lights flicker, from yellow to orange and back again. Planes soar overhead. And between them—

Stars. So many stars. Up above, the night sky is brighter than Magnus has ever seen it – or perhaps he’s just never had the courage to look up properly before. Or look up since. The night is a sea of tinkling white lights. Calling out to one another as they blink. Alive and yet so very dead. Magnus remembers briefly what Julia once told him, about the night skies in other universes. She’d leant her head against his shoulder and whispered in his ear, _in other worlds, there is no darkness._ In other words, the sky above is filled with so many stars that you can hardly see for light. In far away universes, there is no such thing as blankness. No such thing as void. Magnus sighs deeply and allows the peacefulness of it to fill him whole.

“You finished with that?” Taako asks him, leaning in. Magnus starts and allows his plate of meat and shellfish to slide from his lap. Taako catches it with outstretched hands. Nobody would ever believe they had only met each other a few weeks before.

“You can have it,” Magnus finds himself saying. “I’m full.”

The realisation of that statement – that that statement is not a lie – is shocking to him, Magnus realises. He _is_ full. He can’t remember the last time he ate like that and didn’t regret it. At his side, Taako unscrews their coveted bottle of red wine. It opens with a satisfying _pop_ , an explosion of vivid, vibrant colour that lines the night. Even the clouds hear it. Taako draws two plastic tumblers from the depth of his quite-possibly-bottomless bag and pours a generous amount into each. Magnus takes his with a slight feeling of elation. Whatever happiness has fused itself to his bones hasn’t drifted just yet. The hopeful part of him is determined to keep it.

“To road trips,” Taako says, tipping back his glass. Idly, Magnus wonders if he’s a lightweight. Only time will tell. “And to heading off into the middle of fucking nowhere. This is great.”

Magnus knocks back his glass. He’s never been an expert at wine, but he thinks this one might be fairly middle-class. It tastes smoky and wood-like, like a forest felled in heavy rain. Blackberry lingers on his tongue long after it’s gone down. He smiles across at Taako, his cheeks slightly flushed. The heat of the night is imposing and storm-heavy, in one sense, but Magnus is so bubbled-up in happiness that none of that seems to matter either.

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning back again to run his hand through the yellow-green grass that grows in clumpy patches all around their feet. “This is pretty great.”

“You liked the shellfish?”

“Mm,” Magnus says. His stomach is quiet again, satisfied by the depth of the flavour captured by Taako and one small, slightly more companionable barbecue. “They were very good.”

“Cooked?”

“Of course, Taako.”

Taako leans back, studying the flames roaring amongst blocks of charcoal. How he fit all of it into the car Magnus will never know. He supposes that’s part of the magic. “Something on your mind?” he asks. Taako moves quickly to attention – or quickly enough. He’s already on his second glass of wine, and it seems to slow his silhouette in more ways than one.

“Nothing, bubbaleh.”

“You sure?”

Taako closes his eyes, drawing the plastic tumbler close to his shining white teeth. “I’m sure,” he murmurs. Tired of being neglected, the barbecue flames shudder and descend slowly back into the earth. Magnus feels their absence keenly. “Just a little wary, that’s all.”

“Of shellfish?”

“Of me,” Taako says simply. It’s the closest he’s ever come to admitting something, Magnus thinks – or tries to. He wonders idly if _he’s_ the lightweight after all. Taako adds, “I wasn’t always a good cook, Magnus.”

Magnus glides over that swiftly enough. “You’re pretty good now,” he says, reaching for the leftovers that adorn his plate, “That’s all that matters.”

Taako hums in disagreement, raising his eyebrows. “You say that now, big man.” he says. And then, after a little while. “I was a proper chef once. Had my own place and everything.”

Magnus frowns at him, all thought of snackage forgotten. “Really? What happened?”

Taako snorts and dives a little deeper into himself, reaching for a stray stick and poking at the ashen-faced barbecue. “Some real fucked-up bullshit,” he mutters. Another sideways glance at Magnus. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Well, what did Magnus expect? “Sure. That’s fine.”

Taako’s eyebrows raise a little higher but he doesn’t continue the point on any further. “And you?” he asks eventually, “What secrets are you hiding, big man?”

For a moment, Magnus almost tells him. Taako is as vulnerable as he has ever seen him, and God, he _wants_ to, really, but…

“Not yet,” he says, his voice hardly any louder than the sand that scatters itself in shelves all along the highway. “I can’t tell you just now. It has to be later.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed. Magnus scratches at his hair, feeling for the scar carved like a wishbone into the side of his head, a token memoir from when he fell off a fence in third grade. It hadn’t hurt, really, but his mother had made a massive fuss. Pity she isn’t around to help him anymore. He blinks again and takes another sip of wine. This time, it tastes like molten sunsets. “I’m not ready,” he says simply, and just like that he knows it’s true, knows it deep in the middle of his bones like a microbe festering on something other. Magnus isn’t ready to talk about Julia just yet. His insides are still recovering – hell, his _head_ is still reeling from the fact that he never went to her funeral. Never saw her body, never spoke of her on behalf of the living. Now he never will. And that’s OK.

It’s doesn’t, however, mean that he’s ready to talk to Taako about a woman he will never get a chance to meet. A woman Magnus loved so dearly and well that his heart could burst with it. Magnus has already accepted that Julia is gone. He has yet to accept that she is never coming back.

“Right,” Taako says, in the half-second it takes Magnus to analyse every line that wounds his face like a concertina. “Well, I’m not ready either, so stay away. I barely know anything about you – you’ll have to do much better than that to unlock _my_ tragic backstory.”

It’s said with such apathy that Magnus almost recoils – but then, this is Taako, and no-one he has ever met has ever been quite like Taako, so he supposes he can let it slide. This time, perhaps. Probably not the next time. It hurts Magnus’ heart to hear Taako talk about himself like this.

Finally, he finds himself saying, “I’m a carpenter. I make chairs. I had a dog called Miriam. She was pretty sweet.” A pause. “She died of liver cancer, but she was still pretty sweet. Old English Sheepdog. Loyal as anything.” Taako keeps on staring at him, so Magnus says, “So? That’s two things you know about me. You asked.”

Taako pushes Magnus’s hand away from the quickly disappearing shellfish. “Fine,” he answers shortly. He looks sideways at Magnus through his long fringe, escaping, as it always does at this time of night, out of its bun and into his dark brown eyes. Finally, he says, “I had a cat.”

“Had?”

“Left it back home. Little jerk. Always after the salmon.” He bows his head so low Magnus is sure he’ll disappear into his shirt sleeves. “I made her cat food, once. She fucking loved it. Been spoilt ever since.” This next pause seems to stretch on even longer. Taako’s words are like a sledgehammer slamming up against a block of ice. “Did Lup tell you about Kravitz?”

It seems pointless to lie. “Yes.”

“Right,” Taako replies. He sucks in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about that either.”

“I figured.”

“OK. Good. Just so you know.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer, taking in the silence and the shadows, the glint of empty clam shells and the softly-spun trails of the smoking barbecue. Eventually, Taako stands up and suggests they get back in the car. The temperature has dropped considerably – not enough to be cold, but enough to assume that it’s probably more safe to sleep in a metal box with wheels than out in the open air. The darkness helps.

Taako packs away quickly and quietly, avoiding Magnus’ eye all the while. It almost seems as if he’s afraid Magnus might press him further, but really Magnus has no intention of doing that. He should have known that Taako overhead him, or would figure it out in the long-term. Taako never misses anything. Even the little things.

Magnus clambers into the passenger seat; Taako slides down into the back. He doesn’t say anything further for a whole ten minutes, and then:

“Magnus?”

“What?”

The silence is profound. For a moment, Magnus thinks he might not say anything at all. But Taako is not one to lose his nerve. At last he speaks.

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

For a moment, Magnus’ heart constricts. Then, he remembers the dog. He twists round in his seat to look at Taako, still with eyes wide, and asks, “Miriam?”

Taako pauses for a moment, pushing his tongue up against his bottom teeth. Beyond them, through the rear window, a single ring of black is the only indicator that they’ve ever been here. Everything else has been tidied away. Like a puzzle. Or a scene worthy of investigation. No longer found on any kind of map.

Taako’s eyes move to Magnus’ left hand. Only now does Magnus realise how often he reaches for it. He feels his heart rise up slowly into his throat.

“No,” Taako says, his voice unconsciously low, watching as Magnus’ hands fiddle absently with his wedding ring. “Your wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re on a roll! I decided I might as well sit down and hammer this out before going off to tackle a truly insurmountable amount of paperbacks - this scene was totally unplanned but I kinda liked how it came out. Also, it didn’t take forever. There’s a bonus for you.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I’m honestly floored by the amount of people who’ve taken an interest in this fic. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to hear that folks are enjoying it so far. I wouldn’t have the motivation to finish this fic without such supportive feedback. So thank you! It means an awful lot~


	11. These Hallowed Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Taako find the place they’ve been looking for. Magnus observes. Taako gets dressed.

For a moment, Magnus doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. Every last conscionable action he could’ve taken – in this moment, or the moment after that – simply doesn’t occur to him. He just stares.

“Maggie?” Taako’s voice is small and shrill in an otherwise boundless cavity. “Maggie, I’m sorry.” A small, sad pause. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Magnus heaves a breath. His heart restarts. His lungs compress and refill themselves again. His jawbone slides neatly back into place. “It’s OK,” he says. The words aren’t active, exactly, but they’re a start. “You’re fine, Taako.”

Taako sinks back into the folds of the blanket that surrounds him. Magnus’ blanket. What a treasured and revered curio. “Do you want… can I ask?”

Magnus thinks about it. Pauses. Reconsiders. Then he says, “No. No, you can’t. Not yet.” He looks up, staring steadfast at the stars that lie beyond them. So beautiful and dead. “I’m sorry, Taako.”

“Ah well,” Taako mumbles. “Shouldn’t’ve pushed.” His voice has a rasping, breathy quality to it – the undercurrent of a nervous laugh. The beginnings of something spasmodic and quite terrible. Magnus’ eyes dart sideways to look at his reflection in the mirror hanging overhead. Taako is sat with his head low, arms folded in a way that suggests he expects to be dismissed. Perhaps he already has. Sharp pain twists like a knife between two of Magnus’ lower ribs. He barely feels it.

“I—goodnight, Taako.” he says. Living hell lingers in his gut. Above him, Taako’s mirror-image sighs and curves its shoulders, slumping sideways like a ball of forgotten cloth. He rests his head on the razor-thin pillow Magnus has provided for him and speaks from the deepest contours of his stomach, “Goodnight, Magnus.” he says. Every strand of him is wretched, crooked and despairingly alive. “Sleep well.”

*

The night’s revelations hang over them like a thunderstorm for the rest of the drive. Taako sits rigidly in the passenger seat, his knees pressed tightly together and his elbows hanging parallel with his hips. He stares blankly at nothing. Magnus, in turn, does nothing to turn his attention.

Ninety-nine percent of Magnus is focused entirely on the road. The other one percent of him wonders when Taako first figured out he was married. Perhaps he’s known from the very beginning. Taako is inscrutable. It would be impossible to tell.

Opposite, the map spread out across the dashboard rustles in Taako’s hands. It’s the first time he’s moved in over an hour. “Take a left,” he says quietly, like some kind of goddam wilting sat-nav. Magnus resists the urge to cuff him around the ear. It wouldn’t do either of them any good.

They turn left. All around them, city buildings sprout as if grown straight out of the earth. The grass verge on either side becomes neater, then disappears entirely. They trundle on down the main road, bearing left two more times before arriving at their destination.

Somehow, it’s bigger than Magnus thought it would be.

It’s a massive building. Two square blocks of red bricks, brought together by a series of looped bridges and tunnels, it’s more impressive than any railroad museum has any right to be. The grounds are similarly sized – in the distance, Magnus picks out a sprawling grassy plain dotted by large storage houses – houses in which engines from almost every era are housed. To Magnus, they look like small red dots. The car park is small and surprisingly easy to manoeuvre. In the blink of an eye, Magnus parks the car. Giant glass windows glint dully opposite.

“Well,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “Here we are.”

Taako, if anything, looks even more shocked than Magnus does. He blinks a few times before folding up the map. “Yeah,” he says, almost under his breath. His eyes are comically huge. “Here we are.”

They tumble from the car. All at once, the hot air hits them like a warning shot. They’re not ready for this place. Both of them are tired, unwashed and underfed – Magnus had refused point-blank to let Taako cook them another breakfast, despite its apologetic implications. They’d made do on stale rye bread and a few slices of processed cheese. Now, he’s beginning to regret it. He turns a half-circle in this crazy Californian heat, one hand shading his violet-smeared eyes. Set apart from the other outbuildings, he spies a set of shuttered doors that look somewhat like a toilet block. He reaches into the boot and withdraws the bag they’ve been keeping with them for this very purpose.

“Time to get clean,” he says to Taako, hefting the bag up onto his shoulder. Forget what’s gone on between them beforehand – for now, Magnus is keen to achieve what they drove six, almost seven hours for. “You coming?”

Operation Clean-Up is an easy plan to carry out. The museum has only just opened, and the toilets are empty – which suits the pair of them just fine. Magnus drops the bag in his arms down on top of the sink, unzips it and hands two small packages to Taako. One contains clothes; the other smells faintly of lavender soap. Taako unzips the later and inserts a plug into the newly-cleaned sink. They’ve put another bag in front of the door for the sake of privacy, but Magnus doubt they’ll need it. They’ve done this before, at other places – gas stations for the most part, granted, but still. They know when a bathroom is likely to be occupied and when it isn’t. For the next few minutes, they have a shot at getting themselves clean undisturbed.

It’s a strip-wash job. Neither one of them mind. Magnus pulls his shirt up over his head and throws it over the taps. They’ve gotten used to how to live, out here on the road; nevertheless, Magnus’ face and neck are covered in the debris of the sandy, sun-baked pastures they’ve rolled themselves through. It’s the kind of grime that prefers to remain invisible. The kind of dirt that collects beneath fingernails and in between the toes. Magnus splashes water onto his face and hears Taako beside him do the same. Then, he picks up the initial package and drifts sideways into the toilet. Fresh clothes are useful here, if they intend upon not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s Taako gift to the world that he’s so good at picking out fashionable items. Well. Fashionable by Taako’s standards, anyway. Magnus bites down his grimace as he unfolds the green t-shirt and brown cargo shorts in his hands. It could be worse. The shirt _does_ have a pocket.

He emerges from the stall feeling at least a little more human then when he entered it. They’ll find a place to wash their clothes. A hotel, maybe, or a laundromat, after all of this is over. The railroad exhibit, that is, not the road trip. Magnus seems to know innately that their road trip is not over by a long shot.

“Taako—” he begins, and then stops. Beside him, Taako appears to be having the same thoughts. He’s dressed well enough – green lacy top, white suede shoes, jewellery, all the works – but his heart doesn’t seem quite in it. He jerks as Magnus’ eyes connect with his and hurriedly starts sweeping up a handful of cosmetics – Magnus leans out to place a hand atop of his.

“You OK?” he asks. All the usual spunk that Taako possesses appears to have faded far away. His hair is drawn back into a long, loose pony-tail, sure, but his eyes are wrecked with guilt.

“It’s nothing, bubbaleh.” he murmurs, easing his hand from beneath Magnus’ huge palms. His eyes flick to the lipstick lying flat in front of the mirror. “Should’ve brought something subtle, really. Can’t imagine a railway exhibition is really the place to crush those gender norms.”

Well. Magnus hadn’t been expecting that. But still. It’s not hard to fix.

“You want me to do your eyeliner?” he asks, stepping back to admire Taako’s outfit for a moment and wondering how someone so extraordinary could ever be so afraid. Sudden affection warms his airways. “I had a lot of practise when I was younger.”

Taako’s eyebrows lift in faint surprise but he doesn’t retreat. “You don’t seem the type.”

Magnus cocks his head on one side, considering. Taako’s earrings are perfectly matched to his skirt – a simple a-line affair, black with white spots, bound at the hips by a thin brown leather belt. “I had a lot of time to think about it,” he admits. “Being queer does that.”

This time, Taako’s eyebrows _definitely_ shoot upwards. He narrows his eyes, too cautious for anything. The question is implicit in his eyes. “You’re trans?” he asks. Magnus smiles at the faint surprise in his voice. No-one else ever seems to believe it either. But the way Taako asks it is… different. Relieved.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Magnus smiles and unscrews the lid of the eyeliner. “I guess that makes us a team,” he says. He dips the brush in his hand into the pot, smiling further as Taako hops up onto the sink and obediently closes his eyes. Magnus’ hands have never been more steady.

“Don’t even sweat it, Taako.” he says, reaching up to paint over Taako’s dark brown lids, “I am the _best_ with nail varnish. You’re gonna look fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updates! Would’ve put this up last night, but I wanted to make sure it was completely right before I put it out into the world. Also, writing this made me feel just a tiny bit anxious hahaha~
> 
> That said: I’ve been thinking a lot about how to get across Taako’s identity as a gender non-conforming gay guy in this fic. It makes up a huge part of his character, and I wanted to make sure I acknowledged that in-fiction? Whilst also taking into account the fact that it is fucking *hard* to be visibly queer in a society such as our own. Visible LGBT folks do so much to make sure that everyone’s voices are heard. So! I wanted to make sure I acknowledged those two things. Speaking as a trans guy myself, both trans Taako and trans Magnus are two headcanons that are extremely close to my heart. I love my good good boys.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! If you enjoyed reading this chapter, be sure to let me know. Your support means tons and tons! :D


	12. Stepping Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako and Magnus enter the museum. Taako observes. Magnus is unfairly intimidated.

Surprisingly, they don’t get arrested for temporarily cordoning off an entire block of toilets – although the man in the rainbow bow tie _does_ look at them suspiciously from the entrance as they leave. It may just be the size of Taako’s handbag – Magnus is pretty sure he could fit an entire kitchen sink in there if he wanted to.

“You OK, bubbaleh?”

Magnus falls into step behind Taako and his immaculately made-up face. His nails sparkle like silver fishes’ tails. “I’m fine,” he says. Now more then ever, he wants to ask the question that’s been bothering him since they set out. “Taako, why did we come here?”

Taako turns and smiles at him as they pass through the entrance and into the centre hallway. “It’s an adventure, yeah? We can go anywhere we want.”

Yes, Magnus thinks, they certainly can – but is that the truth? Or is Taako running away just as Magnus supposed he is? Whatever. He’s not going to get answer anytime soon, that’s for sure. In the meantime…

“Wow,” Taako says, staring at the red steam train that takes up most of the centre of the room, “It’s big, huh?”

It’s not the whole of train, obviously, but it’s still quite impressive. The front carriage shines in the early morning sunlight, rays bouncing off of its sleek red sides and coal-black face. This train was the beginning of something, Magnus thinks. For someone, somewhere. The legacy of the iron horse. Even Magnus – who has never truly understood the power of machines, preferring wood, always, in his times of tightest trouble – is awed by its gigantic presence. It looks like a beast. It very nearly is one.

Five identical hallways lead off from the spot at which they standing. In front of them is a noticeboard with a map on it. Magnus steps forwards and studies it carefully. There are fields beyond this, where the working trains are kept – trains you can _ride_ on, Magnus realises, and relive an experience first carved so long ago. Small puffs of exhilaration fill him at the thought of it – that coal-bellied machine, leached by the soot and dirt of ages, shining like a rough-hewn gem in a field of green. He has no real interest in trains, or the history that binds them to California, and yet—

They’re exciting. In some insignificant, sure-fire way, they take his mind away from the problems at hand and allow him to focus on the bigger things. The bigger picture.

For five glorious hours, he thinks he may just be allowed to stop thinking about Julia, and his tired soul is better for it.

They don’t explore the rooms in order – order is not Taako’s style – but randomly, padding from one to the next like the dull-witted predators they are. At least, Magnus is dull-witted, or feels it. Taako stalks the halls of the place like a panther, prowling round and round, his eyes moving quickly from object to the next, as if every inch of this information is vital to his survival. Magnus has never characterised Taako as particularly intelligent, and yet he sees it now. Taako, it seems, is an intelligent man without effort. He takes no opportunity to learn, but learns when it suits him. And it suits him now, in the this wonderful place, to be as unnerving and electric as possible.

Magnus tags along a few metres behind. He’s never been good with words. It feels stupid to admit to it, really, but he isn’t – he isn’t—

He isn’t Taako, all smooth lines and concentric curves and neat circles. He’s Magnus. Sawn-off, unfinished, unpolished Magnus Burnsides, steady but slow too. Words have a tendency to overwhelm him in a way that Taako will never understand. Taako knows these things already. Sometimes, Magnus struggles to understand even _him_.

Nevertheless, he notices things that Taako doesn’t. He notices the silences that echo on behind them after they leave a room. He notices the dark brown eyes peering at him from behind a bookshelf. And he notices the footsteps, small and quiet, pitter-pattering after him like rain on a foggy Sunday morning. Magnus notices these things. This is a fact.

What he fails to _understand_ however, is why a small child has chosen to follow both he and Taako through the museum for at least thirty-five minutes now.

Whilst Taako is busy examining some sort of miniature model engine (all pulleys and wires and other intricate things that Magnus is already far too large for) Magnus steps carefully back into the shadows, backwards, one footstep after the other—until he crosses upon the threshold of the doorway and stumbles back into something – a kid – small and uniformed clutching at a satchel of books. The kid falls like a domino. Magnus remains completely upright. He reaches down to pick up the books that have sprawled themselves right across the doorway. Then, he frowns. The thing is, they don’t _look_ like kid’s books. Most of them seem to be centred on California’s railway history, or the mechanics of the perpetual motion machine – whatever that is. Magnus lifts up his head to look at the kid and sees a face full of terror looking back at him. Of all the things he’d expected, this one was not on his list.

The kid is small, Black and dressed in a way that emphasises rather than hides his lack of years. No kid this young should ever be caught wearing a sweater vest – or a newsboy’s cap, for that matter. His jacket is brown and his shoes are burgundy. The entirely ensemble is utterly unbecoming and yet somehow slightly endearing.

Of course, it’s rather offset by the fact that he’s staring at Magnus with a good amount of fear in his face, but Magnus can hardly be blamed for _that_. It’s not his fault he walked right into the kid. Really. It’s not. This kid is a creeper than needs to be taught some manners. Except—

Oh, damn. Magnus has cracked one of his glasses’ lenses. That really does put a damper on things.

He holds out the books. “Sorry, kid.” he says. Crouching down beside him is a bad idea, but Magnus isn’t entirely certain that he won’t lose sight of him if he stands up. The kid is even smaller than Taako. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”

The kid sniffs and pulls his books back into his satchel. Magnus can’t help but notice that there’s nothing _but_ books in there. Oh, and a notebook. How useful. “That’s OK, sir.” the kids says. He doffs his cap in some small imitation of apology, or perhaps even defence, tightly-wound curls pushed back by the permanence of the accessory. It’s a well-loved piece of clothing, for sure. Magnus’ hand drifts unconsciously for the short red scarf wound around his neck. “I know you were looking for me. Not very subtly, actually,” he adds, lifting his chin and replacing the hat. Magnus blinks at him. The kid does not blink back.

Magnus tries not to think about the fact that he feels intimidated by a ten-year-old. “That’s—that’s very perceptive of you, buddy. Why are you following us?”

This time, the kid does blink. His eyes take on a hazy, hurt kind of quality, and then the moment is gone, vanished like a puff of wind. “I wasn’t following you, sir,” he says, his head slightly inclined. Without looking at Magnus, he buckles up his satchel and presses a hard-heeled shoe into the tile grouting. “I was… observing. Sir.”

As he speaks, Magnus notices that his hand meanders slowly in the direction of the front pocket of his satchel – exactly where his notebook is hidden. Magnus has a sudden inclination to get a hold of it. Instead he says, “Observing, huh? Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. We’re in a museum, kid. There’s lots more interesting things to look at than me and Taako.”

Previously, Magnus had made the mistake of thinking that this kid’s face is full of fear. It isn’t It’s curiosity. Looking at him now, it’s difficult to believe that this kid was ever intimidated by him at all – he’s smiling in a way that suggests he knows something Magnus doesn’t, and that unnerves him. All to hell, actually.

“Get beat, kid.” he says. The words are not nearly as harsh as he’d intended them to be – one way or another, Magnus can’t stand raising his voice to any degree. He knows how scary he is. Instead, he just sounds tired. “Go look at a train or something.”

The kid disappears pretty swiftly – opting to go down a different corridor to the ones Magnus and Taako have already explored. Oh well. It’s unlikely they’ll bump into him again, anyway. With any luck. Magnus grunts and turns back towards where Taako was last standing, just beyond the entrance to the doorway he now hovers in. He isn’t there anymore. Magnus sighs and clutches at the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t know quite why he’s irritated, yet, but two missing geniuses can only mean trouble.

*

“Taako? You in here?”

“I’m here, bubbaleh.” comes the answering call. Taako is standing straight-backed in front of a notice board and a donations dish. “Just wondering how best to break this open.”

“Please don’t, Taako.”

“I could.”

“I know you could. Please don’t.”

Taako rolls his eyes and allows his hands to swing back by his sides. Magnus is left with the uncomfortable feeling that there’s a hammer somewhere in the depths of Taako’s handbag. Choosing not to think about it, he says instead, “There was a kid following us.”

“Was there? Excellent. Taako has fans wherever he goes.”

“Seemed a pretty smart kid.”

“Good for him, I guess.”

Unseen by Taako (for the first and last time) Magnus rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at the ground. “We done here yet, Taako?”

“No. Should we be done?”

“I’m bored. You’ve looked in almost every room.”

Taako arches an eyebrow. “Not the _back_ rooms,” he says, the irritation in his words spreading from his mouth like dark black ink. “Not outside. We still have to ride the train, Maggie.”

“I don’t want to.”

Taako jerks his head up, the warning tone in Magnus’ voice snapping him out of his self-conceited reverie. For a moment, Magnus hates him for it. Then he remembers who the fuck he is. Does he really have the time to be so careless?

Unnamed anger grinds at the bowels of his stomach. For the second time that day, Magnus’ hand drifts to the tie around his neck.

“Maggie?” Taako asks. Of all of the ‘Magnus’ variations, that one seems to be his favourite. “You all right in there?”

“Fine,” he answers shortly. Their entire world seems to revolve around that one word. “Taako, I want to _go_. I’m tired and we’ve spent almost the whole day here.”

Taako blinks. It reminds him of the little kid with the glasses. “Sure, we can go I guess.” he says, and despite the thickly-veiled distance there, it’s clear to Magnus that he feels hurt. The atmosphere is sticky with irresolution. “I didn’t – I don’t wanna ride on the train anyway. It’s stupid.”

“Right,” Magnus says. They’re the only two people in the room, and their lies echo like gunshots across the empty space. “OK. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Mags.”

Magnus drifts back out of the atrium alone, thinking hard. The thing is, he _doesn’t_ want this. He doesn’t want to spoil this for Taako. But he already has. And so has that kid.

That kid. Somehow, the thought of it fills him with a boiling spot of anger. No-one – especially not a child – should ever be that sure of themselves. Not when Magnus is so unsure. So utterly helpless and alone. Even Taako—

He pauses for a moment in the middle of the car park, surrounded on all sides by fading amber light. He’s all alone, but for a moment, just a moment, he’d felt…

Well. No matter what he felt. There’s nothing here – nothing but chalk and bricks and dust and old, old mechanics that Magnus doesn’t understand. He doesn’t need to. None of this is necessary, really. Magnus doesn’t even need to _be_ here. Taako could’ve just as easily brought himself.

It isn’t of any consequence, really. At the end of this, when Taako is done, Magnus will be alone again and free to do whatever he likes. Continue on in whatever way he chooses.

Or not. He could choose not to continue. He could go home. Or somewhere else. Somewhere far away from this and all of this.

The thought doesn’t bear thinking about. But Magnus thinks about it, and is still thinking about it, long after Taako returns and drops down into the back seat. He’s late because he decided to go on a train anyway, he tells Magnus, but Magnus can’t seem to help but think otherwise – his make-up is smudged in all the wrong places, and all of his bracelets have been heaped up onto one wrist, as if Taako has been running his hands through the bangles. He’s been crying, and Magnus thinks he can understand why. Or not. Because really, why on Earth would someone like _Magnus_ understand anyone truly? He clenches his fists.

He isn’t being fair. He isn’t being nice. But for the first time since he left Julia’s hospital, Magnus finds he doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: In Which Magnus is a Grump
> 
> A wild Angus appears! And disappears, but don’t worry. He’s coming back.


	13. When The Night Is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus drives. Taako sulks. The car rattles.

They don’t sleep that night. It’s an unconscious decision taken by the both of them – Magnus has no desire to be alone in his head, and Taako, it seems, has far too much to think about to ever dream quietly. And so they sit together in the front seats of the car, driving on stolidly through the night, two bottles of water and a bag of chips between them. It’s almost like old times. Except for one minor detail: they didn’t know each other then. They do now, of course, and it’s… terrible. It’s quite terrible.

Eventually, far out in the middle of the road (Magnus wonders why Taako always seems to choose these in-between places, these places of indecision that have been ripped so cleanly from time and knowledge, as if they’re floating on an island of their own making) Taako sighs and says, “Maggie, stop the car. I can hear something rattling in the trunk.”

Well, it’s better than talking. Action is always better than anger, better than speech, better than grief. Magnus pulls up onto a grassy verge at the edge of the abandoned highway and unclips his seatbelt. Beside him, Taako is looking at him dubiously. Magnus shrugs.

“There’s a lot of stuff in there,” he explains. “It might take a bit of heavy lifting.”

It’s an excuse, and Taako must know it, because he snorts and shakes his head, sliding out of the car door like something gracefully inhuman. If Magnus didn’t know any better, he’d say that that is what Taako is – something not quite of this world, something other, something alien in the same way that emptiness is alien. No matter how much Taako speaks, he never says much. He is always unknowable. It’s the Taako way.

For anyone else it might be disturbing, but after a life full of insecurities Magnus finds he’s rather used to it. His bad mood is fading now, if not the atmosphere, and the rest of him – his soul in particular – feels empty, slightly vapid. He should apologise, really, but somehow he doesn’t have the words. His whole world is made of uncertainty and mistakes, mishaps and misdemeanours. Magnus has long-since lost the ability to control and confront anyone that isn’t him. And sometimes, even those endeavours fail.

They move round to face the trunk. It’s silent, now, but then it would be, because they aren’t moving anymore. Magnus isn’t sure why that’s important exactly, until Taako pops open the lock and he sees the mess their intense speed must have made of it. Everything is everywhere. Bottles – plastic ones, thankfully – in his head, Magnus thanks Lup for her foresight of the troubles to come – lie strewn across the lining of the trunk, small scraps of paper and packages of food tightly wound amongst the rubble. Magnus sighs and leans forward to pick up the picnic basket that sits there like an uninvited guest. It’s emptier than it’s meant to be – this time, Magnus is sure of it. He turns to look questioningly at Taako.

“Did you—?”

“Nu-uh, bubbaleh.”

Taako, Magnus notices, is frowning too. Magnus closes the trunk and turns to lean back against the shining back of the car. Their supplies are gone. Their food has been _eaten_. It doesn’t make any sense. Except, to some small extent, it does.

“Taako,” he says slowly, watching as Taako’s eyes roam quietly around the empty landscape, scanning each clump of grass, each stunted, sand-swept tree, “Could you check the back seat for me please?”

Taako is bemused but doesn’t question the instruction further. Eyebrows dented, he opens up the side door and sticks his head inside. He quickly withdraws.

“What the fuck,” he says shortly. He glances sideways at Magnus, tongue pressed up against his bottom teeth. He seems on the edge of saying something stronger, but restrains himself and says instead, “Mags, there’s a fucking child in the backseat.”

“Are they wearing tweed?”

“Yes.”

Magnus hums thoughtfully. “Right,” he says shortly. “Wake him up, would you?”

A familiar face shoves itself into the open, brown eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh, I wasn’t asleep sir,” he says, whilst Taako gawps in the background, like a stick figure pasted against canvas. _Taako Shocked, Oil on Canvas, 2018._ “I was waiting to introduce myself.” A moment’s pause. Magnus watches him as he turns his head to look at Taako. “Your sandwiches are very good, sir.”

Taako gapes at him, then narrows his eyes. “You little shit.”

The kid – the same kid, the kid from the museum, but how is that possible? – looks up at Taako and smiles without batting an eyelid. “I’m ten, sir.”

Taako quickly amends his sentence. “You tiny fucker.”

Magnus thinks that he might as well join in. “Kid,” he says, spreading his arms in a wide arc, “What the hell?”

“You have a very nice car, sir.” he says – a little absently, Magnus thinks, almost as if he’s tried this kind of thing before, hopping into cars and hoping that the others won’t notice. Magnus can only assume that he crawled into the backseat via the trunk, and that approximately half of their belongings are now sitting in that lonely goddamn carpark. What a sneak. Magnus draws himself up to his full height and tries to look intimidating. It isn’t hard.

This time, the kid _does_ shrink. That’s good. It shows he’s smart, Magnus thinks. It shows him that this kid knows all too well what he’s done and what’s about to happen.

Except that Magnus can never follow through on being angry with ten-year-olds, and he isn’t about to start now.

“Kid,” he repeats, “Why are you here?”

The kid looks down at the ground. “Just because,” he says. And then, after a pause, “I want to come with you. I heard you talking. I know you’re on a road trip.”

“You’re ten, kid.”

“I’m Angus,” he replies, his eyes big and wide and earnest, and a part of Magnus thinks he that he must be doing it on purpose, that he _must_ be trying to be look deliberately innocuous just so that Magnus will pity him. It’s working. Magnus hates that it’s working.

“Don’t you have, I don’t know, _parents_ , Agnes?” Magnus has forgotten that Taako is stood beside him. He would never have thought it possible, but here he is. Magnus looks at Taako, dressed in skirt and blouse, eyeliner and lipstick, and then down at himself, looking like some kind of suburban dad too big for his own skin. Why the fuck did Angus decide to follow th _em_? And to what cost?

Taako is right though. Angus is ten. Angus has parents who will be missing him, and oh my God, they’ve accidently abducted a _child_.

He repeats this sentiment to Angus, who shrugs. “I won’t be missed,” he says, his words echoing out across the empty road, bouncing off the asphalt, driving deep into the concrete turned technicolour by the hazy yellow glow of the car’s front lights, “I know what I’m doing.”

Suddenly, Taako seems to make the connection. “This is the kid that was following us?” he asks scathingly, “‘Every smart kid’s smart kid’? Do you carry a magnifying glass or something, bubbaleh?”

Angus stands up straighter and puffs out his chest. “I’m the world’s greatest detective, sir.” he says proudly, like he isn’t _ten goddamn years old_. The contradiction there is making Magnus’ head hurt. He moves decisively towards the front side door.

“We’re taking you back to the museum,” he says firmly. In his peripheral vision, Angus wilts.

“I’ve been at the museum for three week and five days,” he says, his voice only slightly petulant. It’s disturbing how unlike a child he sounds, really. “Nobody said anything. I really am on my own, sir.”

For some reason, that irks Magnus this time. “Stop calling me that,” he snaps. He casts an uneasy glance sideways at Taako. “What do we do?”

Taako hoots at him. “What, do you _want_ to be charged with kidnapping? Are we just adopting a kid or something? Is that it? Because cha’boy would _love_ to know the deets on this one. Really. Reel me in on this one, buddy.”

Magnus shrugs. “It’s the middle of the night,” he reasons, tilting his head to look at Angus. Same sweater, same shirt, same shiny black shoes. His brown baker’s boy cap is clutched tightly his hand. It makes him look incredibly vulnerable. Magnus is surprised to find how deeply that affects him. “The museum will be closed.” He gives Angus a long, hard look. “Tell it to me straight, kid: you from an orphanage?”

Angus hunches his shoulders and moves into himself. Beside him, Taako flinches away as if he’s been scalded. “Maggie—”

“No-one will miss me, sir.” Angus repeats quietly. “Mr. Magnus, sir. I won’t be any trouble. I just want to look. And then…” His voice trails off into the darkness, a line of blue thread that spools from his mouth, never to be found or caught again. “Then you can take me back, sirs. I promise.”

Magnus frowns – Taako follows his expression with dawning horror. “Oh no,” he says, raising his stick-insect limbs in protest, stamping his feet, folding his arms, narrowing his eyes into paper-thin slits. _Taako Deeply Dismayed, Acrylics on Canvas, 2018._ “Oh no, Magnus. We are _not_ doing this. Where the fuck is he going to sleep?”

“Language,” Magnus mutters, as if it matters in any respect, as if this kid has never heard anything that his ears aren’t meant to before. He calls himself a fucking _detective_ for God’s sake. The pair of them never had a chance. And he’s cute. God, he’s like a little puppy. Magnus closes his eyes and leans a hand against the car bonnet.

After a moment he says, “Get in the back, kid.” He is met by an arguable pterodactyl-like screech from Taako.

“Wh _at_?” he shrieks. He stalks forward and punches Magnus in the arm. As usual, Magnus hardly feels it. “We can’t just _take_ the kid, Mags. Maggie. Mango. Come on, my dude.”

Magnus has inferred by now that Taako is not a kid-friendly person. It’s fine. They’ll work on it. “Get in the car,” he says, “We have to go. Might be able to make it to a motel if we hurry.”

“No! No, you terrible man! This is unacceptable!”

“We can’t just leave him in the middle of the road, Taako!”

Taako leans back and thrusts his jaw forwards in a succinctly threatening manner. “God, you are _such_ a dad. This is terrible. This is going to ruin my complexion via stress and poor hygiene.”

“Car,” Magnus replies wearily. Taako obeys (noisily), slamming the car door behind him. Magnus opens the other door and climbs into the driver’s seat. He tosses his head back and asks, “You OK back there, kid?”

“I’m fine,” Angus replies in a small voice, unsure, probably, as to whether he’s got away with hijacking the car (god, those fucking _locks_ ) and ruining half of their supplies, encroaching on their company and causing yet another argument between them. Magnus had almost forgotten about the previous one, to be fair. It’s probably just as well that Angus’ presence was so easily able to rekindle the flames. They need something to argue about. Without it, Taako would probably succeed in murdering their latest companion. A ten-year-old child. With a sweater. And a magnifying glass. Oh, God.

 _Julia would appreciate this_ , he thinks, as he starts up the motor and the car shudders into life. Julia would understand. Julia might even laugh.

It doesn’t hurt to think that – probably because it’s true. Julia _would_ laugh. What a kaleidoscope he has made of his life.

What a shame she isn’t here to share it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for my radio silence! Going back to college has hit me like a truck - I was not prepared for how much work I would have to do haha~ Mock exams are almost over now, so by the end of this week I should be able to put up another chapter... Fingers crossed!
> 
> This chapter didn’t turn out quite like I wanted it to, but I figured it was best to just stop fussing and put it out there. Hopefully I’ll be able to pick up the pace of the fic now that Ango’s here. A couple more stops await this wonderous trio! ...And a phone call. Several phone calls, actually. How Gatsby-esque.


	14. These Neon Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evening blurs. Magnus finds the party a safe place to be—or at least, as safe a place as possible. Taako talks. Angus sleeps.

Finding a motel is surprisingly easy. Magnus parks just opposite the dingy, time-drawn white-walled building with its blinking neon signs, sits back and surveys the state of the road in front of them. There’s a couple of cars parked up alongside the motel’s overgrown grassy fringe, but all of them are empty and the night is deadly silent. It presses on his ears like a towering wall, like a barricade of insurmountable proportions. For the first time, Magnus finds himself feeling grateful for such a dusty, tumbledown building. He clicks open the car’s side door and glances into the back seat at Angus. He isn’t asleep. Neither is Taako.

“Ready to haggle?” he asks, half-joking, half not really joking at all, because it’s goddamn midnight and the motel already looks full enough without their being there. Beside him, Taako emits a low growl and turns his head sideways to face the streaks of pink light being given off by the sign that blinks like a revelation overhead. His skin is tinged with it, his hair bathed in the brightness; for a moment, he looks every bit as inhuman as Magnus sometimes imagines him to be. And then the moment is gone, and Taako is climbing out of the car alongside him, a carpet bag of clothes and toiletries lugging alongside with Angus following meekly in his wake.

The kid looks _tired_ – which Magnus ought to have expected, really, considering it’s three in the goddamn morning and none of them have slept for twelve or so hours at least. It’s troubling that he could be coerced so easily into caring for someone for which he is barely qualified, but then it hardly makes any more sense than the things that have happened – and are still happening, Magnus thinks to himself grimly – over the past couple of weeks. His life is fractured, broken, scattered like the ashes of someone once loved and now lost. For the fourth or fifth time this morning, Magnus’ insides squeeze together as he thinks of her, of _Julia_ , and he wonders why it all had to go so wrong.

Angus and Taako are completely unaware of all of this, of course. Magnus is determined to keep things that way. Taako’s accidental discovery of his marriage was just that—an accident. Magnus will not break. He will not give in to the voices inside his head. He will not speak of it. This is how things should be. Isolation is paramount to his survival.

The foyer – if Magnus can stand to call it a foyer – is filthy and disgusting and probably full of drugs. It is not a place for a child to be – not a place for any of them to be – but it isn’t as if they have any other choice. It’s this, or sleep in the car. And by now, the car is almost unbearably dirty and cramped and not at all human or habitable enough to stay in.

No, this is their only choice. Magnus’s back is coated in a sheen of bumps and bruises – the result of nights upon nights of sleeping in the driver’s seat, allowing Taako to sleep in the back, refusing obstinately to do anything but wait until the stars fade and the sun rises once more. It will be good to sleep in a real place – even a place as superficial as this. He needs the rest, he tells himself. He _needs_ it. There can be nothing else.

Still. There are probably drug dealers here. He feels terrible for taking Angus to a place so utterly vapid and inadequate.

The desk is occupied by a white man with dark hair and blue eyes that exude a kind of aching boredom – all the lights here are fluorescent, apparently, and the desk this man holds is littered by the burnt-out stubs of cigarettes. Earth-brown scorch marks line the dying varnish. It’s a terrible thing to look at, even in the dregs of a restless three AM. Everything here is scorched in a kind of obstinate, bright-edged light; too bright to be real, deeply strenuous on the eyes and on the stomach. Bright white light burns behind Magnus’ eyelids; he isn’t entirely sure that it’s just the fatigue.

Seedy. The place is seedy. That is the only word that Magnus has left for it. He approaches the desk and prays to God that this place is as cheap to rent as it appears.

The dark-haired man takes his cigarette out of his mouth and stares up at him – smaller, always, everyone is always so short in comparison – his eyes half-lidded in a way that suggests he is not only smoking tobacco. Magnus swallows the nausea that rises up into his throat as the smell of strong cologne and weed reaches out to smack him in the face – he’s met people like this before, but he’s never needed their help on such short notice.

“You want a room?” the man asks. His eyes dart back to look at Angus and Taako. Taako, Magnus notes, despite his clear dislike of children and all they entail, has one hand wrapped protectively around the little kid, as if frightened of what will happen if he lets go. It makes Magnus’ heart smile in a tired kind of way.

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“I’ve only got the one,” the man replies, putting the cigarette back up to his lips and taking a hefty drag. He breathes out slowly; most of the smoke ends up in Magnus’ face. He can feel a migraine coming on already. “It has two beds. You’ll have to share – if you want it, that is.” he adds, a sly smile creeping up over the warped contours of his face. Magnus wrestles with the urge to punch him. This man probably has a gun – who doesn’t, way out here in the middle of fucking nowhere? – but in his fatigue, Magnus finds he doesn’t care so much about that. He just wants a room. And a plan. God above, Magnus needs to _rest_.

“Fine,” he says, drawing out his wallet and slamming a handful of notes onto the counter. “One night. Is that enough?”

The man arches an eyebrow. “It’ll do,” he says placidly, as if Magnus is not, in fact, on the verge of hitting him. He rummages under the desk and then slides a rusted key across the counter. It has the number twenty-four emblazoned in tired numbers at the top. The dark-haired man blinks again and settles back in his chair. Mottled damp scratches at the ceiling above him. “Go on, then,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette, “You don’t wanna hang about here. Lobby’s always full after four.”

Magnus doubts that. ‘Full’ can only mean exactly what he thinks it to mean, and so he snatches the key back from the desk and moves away towards Taako and Angus. He hopes Angus has something other than books in that little satchel of his. They’re almost out of money, and the nearest interstate is miles away. They won’t be finding children’s clothes here. This is a place of damp and corrosion. It feels like the heavy lead lining of his heart.

They troop up the stairs together, Magnus in the lead, his heavy footfalls shaking the very frame of the place. It feels as if one strong wind would blow it over; Magnus’ eyes dart from door to door, eyes skimming over a sea of scratched white paint and what looks suspiciously like claw marks, gouged into one corner wall. He chooses purposefully not to think of it.

Eventually, they come to number twenty-four; a four-walled room that reeks of mildew and sour sweat, dark and deep and viscous. Two twin beds – razor-thin pillows, sheets turning grey at the corners – fill the empty space. The carpet covers half of what they stand on. In the corner, a bedsheet has been thrown over the curtain rail. If there’s a bathroom, Magnus can’t see it. He turns to Angus. Angus looks back with wide, scared eyes.

“I’m really sorry kid,” he finds himself saying, when he realises he can’t say anything else. “Do you want—we can go back to the car if you want?”

Angus shakes his head. In the background, Taako hovers like an anxious – but subtle – parent. It would be comical if they had time for comical. “I’m fine, Mr Magnus,” Angus says, bending his head to pick at a loose thread on his sweater. His eyes are significantly dimmer than they were. “I’ll—I can go on the floor. If you want.”

Magnus rolls his eyes at ‘Mr Magnus’ and tries to prevent himself from saying something that will make the situation any worse than it already is. “You can take the bed,” he says. He glances sideways at Taako. “You can have the other one. It’s fine.”

Taako laughs. This early in the morning, it’s grating and unpleasant. “Don’t be stupid, Mags,” he says, as if Magnus is constantly stupid – which Magnus supposes he probably is, in some way or another. “We can share. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on this—” He lifts up a corner of the nearest sheet and gives a theatrical shudder. “—lovely high-quality merchandise. I’ve always wanted to sleep in a mouldy-ass bed.”

“Taako—” Magnus begins, his voice pained. Taako looks over his shoulder at Angus and gives him a wink.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “He’s always like this. Stuffy bastard.”

“Taako!”

“What?” he asks, turning to look at Magnus with a sceptical eye that is somehow both amused and outraged. “You think this kid has never heard the word ‘fuck’ before? Look at him. He’s wearing a little hat. He knows what the word fuck means.”

Magnus ignores him, pushing him aside. “Angus,” he says, “Do you have any spare clothes in that satchel of yours?”

Angus bites his lip, which Magnus takes to be a ‘no’. His sigh is loud enough for both of them. “Right, OK. I’ll add it to the list. Try and get some sleep, yeah?” A glance back at Taako. “I am very distressed by this turn of events.”

“Oh, don’t be a prude,” Taako snaps. “You can be the big spoon. It’ll be fine.”

The bed is even smaller than Magnus initially imagined. He feels it creak beneath him as he kneels to pull back the covers—then stops, turning back to look at the door just opposite.

“Taako, have you tried locking the door?”

Taako frowns and strides over towards the door, turns the key and tugs at it experimentally. It rattles in a soundly unconvincing way. Magnus is sure that one strong blow could knock it over. He sinks back onto the bed and tries to ignore the stale stench of the bed sheets beneath him. “We are so definitely going to get murdered,” he says, but quietly, just in case Angus isn’t asleep yet. Taako snorts and crawls into the small slice of space between him and the edge of the mattress. Cold drywall scratches at Magnus’ back. Taako sighs and leans back, pushing his hair into Magnus’ face – Magnus breathes in the smell of him automatically, surprised to note that he smells faintly of bubblegum. Must be the moisturiser, he thinks.

“We’re not gonna get murdered, Mags.” he says, patiently, as if he’s talking to Angus rather than a thirty-something-year-old man. Magnus wonders how this isn’t even slightly weird for Taako, the two of them pressed into such close proximity like this, but then he remembers they’ve been sleeping in the same car together for just over two weeks, and the weirdness becomes a little less intimidating. Everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket, as Julia was so fond of saying, and now it’s just the two of them, hanging on to the very last dregs of the Earth. He lets out a sigh and feels the soft weight of Taako’s hair tickling his cheekbones.

“Taako,” he says in to the dark, the world of the bedroom beyond nothing more than slices of shivering silver and grey, the edge of the bedpost shimmering like a shoal of fish in the semi-light, “How did we get ourselves into this?”

“Well,” Taako begins, as if he’s about to recall every aspect of their adventure so far, which of course he is, “as I recall it, I hijacked your car, then we went and took advantage of my twin sister’s nicely paying job, then we had a kind of weird beach day thing going on, and _then_ we accidently adopted a child. Which, by the way, I still hold you completely accountable for. And now we’re stuck in a shitty motel and _god_ are you a terrible at being a big spoon.”

Still hesitant, Magnus edges forward and wraps one arm around Taako’s petulant frame. It feels as if he’s about to squish him. His other arm is a deadweight trapped beneath Taako’s shoulders. “Is this better?” he asks. Taako snorts; the sound of it ripples down his body and reverberates right into Magnus’ chest. It’s a startlingly intimate moment.

“You’re fine,” Taako says after a moment, but he doesn’t elaborate any further. There’s a short pause in which the darkness breathes and the light of the neon sign beyond the window shifts in swirling, myriad colours. “I’m not really sure how we got into this either, really. I wasn’t expecting it.” Another, deeper pause. “I don’t suppose you’re ever going to tell me why you were out on a road trip in the first place?”

Grey bleeds into black, then grey again, then silver. Magnus looks up at the ceiling and imagines how the stars must look beyond the pale. How the stars might look for Julia. His heart beats a fragile rhythm within his chest – not stone, for the moment, but seeping, bleeding red. It is not entirely unpleasant.

“I don’t want to—” he begins automatically, and then stops, because for the first time he feels as if it’s not entirely the truth. He _does_ want to talk about it. He does. Eventually, every colour pooling round them, he says, “Her name was Julia.”

In his arms, Taako stops shifting and goes incredibly still. It’s like he’s holding a statue, Magnus thinks.

“Julia,” Taako repeats, the word echoing out into the darkness. It doesn’t sound as awful on his tongue as Magnus thought it would, which is something. “Julia. I like that.” He turns over to face Magnus, brown eyes turned completely black in the half-light. “What was she like?”

For a moment, Magnus doesn’t reply. He listens for the sound of Angus’ breathing – slow, steady, definitely asleep – before he comes to even _consider_ how to explain the enormity of Julia Burnsides to someone who has never met her or witnessed the enormity of her love. It’s an almost impossible task, but he thinks he can manage it.

“She was amazing,” he says hoarsely, his voice too loud for the dark, too loud for anything, any room, any person except her. “She made—she made you feel loved. Even when you felt like the worst person in the world. She’d make everything OK again just by saying so. Nothing ever fazed her.” He stops then, because how else can he describe it? No-one else will ever be as complete, as wholesome and loving as Julia was. He loved her so much. He loves her still.

“She sounds pretty great,” Taako says, blinking at him like a shadow man, like a sliver of a human being. Magnus doesn’t correct him for using the present tense. He’s right, after all. Julia is great. She will always be great.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying again until Taako reaches out to thumb the water from his eyes, fingers splayed as if scraping out the hollows of his face, digging deep into his bones, his heart, as if reaching through his insides like the neon light beyond. Magnus allows him to do it. A few sentences shouldn’t strike him empty, but they do. Even talking feels like an effort, now – his mouth is stained by the shadows of a future of that this world will never let him live.

“Go to sleep, Mags,” Taako says, his voice as quiet as it has ever been. “I’ll be here. Go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends without boundaries? The answer is yes.
> 
> I know this is starting to read like a Magnus/Taako fic, but I promise that’s not what this is. Taako is engaged. Magnus’ wife literally just died. So please don’t read this update as that! I mean, you could. But that relationship is definitely not going to be the crux of this fic. :’)
> 
> Next update should be sometime mid-week if I can manage it!


	15. Melancholia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus dreams. The phone rings. Taako attempts to promote gender equality.

He’s dreaming again.

The sheets beneath him are scratchy and coarse against his skin, but Magnus can’t feel it, can’t feel anything, in fact – he’s floating above his and Taako’s bed in a kind of stupor, arms aloft, mind in flight. Behind his eyelids, images of Julia flicker; Julia laughing, Julia baking, Julia carving alongside him in the workshop. At last, his harried mind settles on one image in particular, the glass-cut snapshot of a day that he will never forget. It looks like glass. It feels like glass in his hands. Magnus tries his hardest not to clench it in his fist.

The day, of course, is the first of them – the day he fell for her, all of her, so completely and absolutely. She’d come to his workshop in the early dregs of the afternoon, sunlight streaming like a circlet through her hair, highlighting the sweet curves of her mouth, her dark copper skin – a face so bright with happiness that looking at her had made his eyes ache. Her smile was composed entirely of that same vivid brightness – so soft, so gentle, and yet all too much for him, this humble back-alley kid with a heart too big for his body. He can smell her gentle scent even now, half trapped in lucidity; Julia had smelt like freedom. She had looked like revolution.

And her heart – God, how awful to think of it – her heart had been every bit as large as Magnus’, every bit as loving. But Julia was controlled. Had managed to force herself into a frame that rewarded her, transformed that unending fierceness and courage into valour and victory. Julia’s voice could rally armies, he thought. It was a voice that could motivate the masses, call them to arms, pull them forward through the ages. She possessed power that Magnus could not possibly wield.

But that was OK, because she was Julia, and he was Magnus. He was her assistant, her helper, her source of comfort. The tinder that would light their hearts ablaze. Julia was fire itself. Burning endlessly, burning always.

Until she burnt herself out. Until all that was left was the ashes.

But that isn’t what he thinks of her, here in the dream. In the dream, he imagines her walking towards the counter, fire in her step, fire on her face, not yet a bonfire, her auburn hair hanging low about her aching features, secured by that same red necktie. In life, his calloused fingers drift towards the remains of her essence. In the dream, he simply smiles and shakes his head at her beauty. Trust Waxmen to put him on duty today, of all days. Trust Waxmen. Bless Waxmen. A little part of him feels as if this must be fated.

“Hello,” she says. She’s wearing a summer dress of deep flaxen yellow and looks _radiant_ in it. “I’m looking for my father. He works here. Have you seen him?”

Magnus reaches for the counter out of habit. When she speaks, all air seems to vanish from the room. “He’s in the back,” he hears himself say, throat slightly numb, voice slightly absent. “You can go on through if you like.”

_Well of course she can, Magnus_ , his brain reminds him forcefully, _her father is your_ boss _. Of course she can go through_.

Faint sounds trickle in from the back of the workshop; apparently Waxmen is working. “I won’t trouble him if he’s busy,” she says, her words dripping honey. She looks at it him sideways as if she has all the time in the world. “You’re Magnus, right? Dad’s new apprentice?”

Magnus blinks. He’s fresh out of college and right now he feels as if he knows nothing at all. Eventually he swallows and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I am. And your name is…?”

“Julia,” Julia says, and oh, how the world shakes beneath his feet. “I’m Julia.” She turns to face the door, still smiling faintly, like she’s playing him for a game. Magnus hopes she isn’t. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it? Do you want to go for a walk?”

Magnus glances around at the stacked wooden shelves, examines closely the sawdust floating like moats of gold though the sunshine, weary and sugar-spun. The floor is covered in it; the whole place smells like some kind of earthy forest. Bronze and brown and pale gold. A half-flush creeps along his cheeks; he’s grateful that Julia won’t be able to see it; his skin is darker than hers, after all, and Magnus has grown practised at disguising this sense of overwhelming affection for almost every stranger he meets.

This time is different though, he thinks. _Julia_ is different. She is new. She is bright, like sunshine. He will not be offered this chance again, he knows, and if he passes this up she may well never greet him again so kindly, with such great sincerity. He is meant for this, he thinks.

Magnus has never been able to resist sunlight, or hope.

He stands up from behind the desk and offers her his hand. He can close the workshop for a while. Waxmen will not notice. Waxmen notices little, after all, when he is engaged with something as sincerely as he is now. Magnus will not be berated for taking one sunny afternoon away from this workshop. He can come back – he can even work overtime. In this moment, it doesn’t matter. Only Julia matters now.

“I’d love to,” he says to her. Julia smiles with all the force of a thousand suns, and Magnus can’t help but feel pleased that it was him who put it there. It feels like success, in a way. He has pleased her with his answer and both of them know it.

The dream ends, of course. But Magnus can’t let himself relive that yet. He can’t. It would be too much.

He sinks back into the dream without it turning into a nightmare, and in the present his unconscious form turns over and sighs into the pillow. Sunlight is pouring over the lip of the horizon, filling up the dirty motel window and pouring through the makeshift curtains, scratching away all trace of greasy fingerprints and rotten putty. In those first few sunlight minutes, the world is reborn. But Magnus doesn’t see it. The only sunlight he witnesses is that of which resides within his dream, glowing and bright and infinite. It isn’t real, not anymore, but he can pretend for a few moments longer.

That sunlight was laid to rest two weeks ago, buried in a hole at the bottom of everything. It’s gone now, but Magnus knows it isn’t really.

Magnus dreams it. Magnus believes it.

In his sleep, Julia lives.

*

The last dregs of the dream as chased quickly away by the sound of his phone, strident and callous in the silence, trilling out with an insistence that seems to underline its urgency. Magnus rolls over onto his side again and realises that the bed is empty. He sits up – and finds Taako standing uncertainly at the other end of the room, half-dressed, one side of his face swathed in eyeliner and lipstick and the other completely bare. If he looks shocked to see Magnus awake, he doesn’t say anything – just gestures towards the phone, sitting like a demon atop a chest of drawers that look to be in danger of falling apart at the seams.

“Better answer that, bud,” he says, glancing over at the other bed, where a small, sad shape lies curled up beneath the blankets, like a body in a morgue, “It’s been doing that all morning. You don’t wanna wake Agnes up.”

Taako’s distance is feigned, Magnus thinks – he knows Angus’ name perfectly well. But then, everything about Taako is feigned to some extent, so Magnus thinks he shouldn’t be nearly so surprised as he is. It’s just one more thing to get used to in this ever-changing, ever-growing world of mirrors and smoke, neon lights and day-old sunlight. It’s false. It isn’t them.

But it is, he thinks gloomily, as a kind of afterthought. It’s exactly them. He sighs and picks up the phone from the bedside table, holding it to his ear with only the barest sense of hesitation. Nobody has called him since he left. It seems pointless to think Julia’s father might call him now.

It isn’t him, though. It’s Lucretia.

“Magnus!” she says, sounding exasperated – exasperated as she always had been, both in high school and in college, a tutor and a friend, a nuisance and an asset. “Good God. I’ve been calling you all morning. Where the hell are you?”

It’s a good question, actually. Magnus has to think for a moment before answering. “Sacramento,” he says at last, his head still slightly fuzzy with sleep. He struggles to sit up, pushing himself up from the bed and pushing back the curtains to look at the world beyond. In the daylight, the world beyond looks even wearier – the grass has a slightly grey look to it, like the motel has drained it of all is colour, and the neon signs above are weak and pale in the daylight. There’s nothing here that he recognises, which is slightly worrying. Isn’t there supposed to be a river nearby?

“Sacramento,” Lucretia repeats, sounding slightly incredulous. There’s a pause, then, “You passed Los Angeles?”

Magnus bites his lip. “Possibly.”

“What the _fuck_ , Magnus.”

Ah, there it is. This is more like Lucretia – she will not hesitate to berate him for what he has done, and what he is doing now. In some way or another, Magnus rather feels as if he needs it. Lucretia was always the more sensible, the more rigid and restrained—

“You fucking pillock,” she says at last, though without much emotion in her voice, and Magnus thinks that she may just have been worried for him, “You absolute bastard. I’m going to kill you. I’m going to drive over from St Helena and I’m going to kill you, Magnus. Where on Earth have you _been_?”

“I decided to go on a road trip,” Magnus offers her. He decides he’ll try and set aside the death threats for now. It’s no more than he should expect, really – if Lucretia doesn’t slap him when she next sees him he’ll have to count himself extremely lucky. Lucretia is a teacher. If she wanted to, she could tear Magnus down in a couple of words. But she doesn’t – and for that he is very thankful.

“A road trip?” Lucretia echoes. Opposite Magnus’ field of vision, the small, sad shape of Angus claws himself up from beneath the blankets and looked across at Magnus curiously. At his elbow, Taako is doing the same.

“Are you talking to your lawyer?” Taako asks him, arching a delicate eyebrow. “If I were you, I’d tell them you were on a bank heist. Much more fun.”

“Shut up, Taako.”

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” Lucretia asks. Magnus sighs into the receiver.

“I was talking to… someone,” he says evasively, as if Lucretia isn’t going to figure out what the hell he’s up to as soon as she sees him. And she will see him, he knows, because this is Lucretia and Lucretia always gets what she wants out of Magnus. Even the last cookie.

“Right,” Lucretia says to him. “I want to meet with you.”

Somehow, she sounds more cautious than she did before; privately, Magnus wonders just what horrors her administrative brain is imagining – who exactly has he brought with him on this road trip? Damn Lucretia and her varied and complicated psychology degree. Nobody should have that kind of power – she’s like a god-dammed mind reader.

It has always seemed to Magnus that Lucretia can tell what he’s thinking just by the timbre of his voice. He goes carefully now.

“Where?”

Lucretia hums absently. Magnus can hear her rattling around in what is presumably her own car. Has she been following him? A mortifying thought.

“Sheraton Grand,” she says at last. “The hotel. I’ll pay for you.”

“I have two people with me,” Magnus says, because Lucretia is going to get it out of him eventually anyway and he’d rather her not find out just as she meets them. “One of them is ten.”

“Jesus, Magnus.”

“Just Magnus, please.”

“Fine,” she replies. “Meet me in the lobby. I’ll be waiting, Magnus.”

“You sound like a bond villain,” Magnus replies absently, and then regrets it. Lucretia’s sigh is enough to send him all the way back to kindergarten.

“We need to talk,” she says, and the line clicks and suddenly Magnus finds himself thrown violently back into the physical world – a world in which Taako is dressed and Angus is ready to go and Magnus is neither of those things. He slips the phone into his pocket and turns as nonchalantly as he can manage. There is not an awful lot of nonchalance involved.

“Who was that?” Taako asks. His expression reminds him of everything Magnus has already said to him, and he finds his face burning with the weight of it. He glances down at the floor and wonders how on Earth he ever convinced himself that taking off his shoes wouldn’t end in a horrible, disease-ridden death, then sits down to put on his socks.

“A friend,” he says carefully, his words measured. “She wants to meet up. The Sheraton Grand. You heard of it?”

Taako frowns at him, then shakes his head, pushing his tongue up against his teeth. Beside him, Angus is frowning too; he looks well-rested enough – if it weren’t for the grime that surrounds them, Magnus might even call him healthy-looking. Buoyant. Ready to face whatever the hell is going to come at them next. Magnus hopes it’s a manageable tidal wave.

Taako is not nearly so cheerful, however. “You sure she’s not an axe murderer?” he asks. He glances furtively out of the window, as if Lucretia is lying in wait just beyond those terrible not-quite-curtains. Magnus raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve known her since I was twelve.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not an axe murderer.”

“Taako—”

“Women can be axe murderers too, Mags.”

Magnus shakes his head at him, not bothering to reply, then sneaks a glance at the rumpled mess of bedclothes they’ve left behind. It’s time to be gone from this place, he thinks. He’s not sure, entirely, if any of them could stand it a moment longer. Best not to find out. Best just to leave.

Magnus stomach rumbles, and he looks down at his rumpled shirt with some degree of regret. “I think we should go,” he says, more to his stomach than anyone else, “She might buy us breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get this out before I the day is over, so apologies if there’s any weird typos in here. I’ve had a long day and I think I’m mostly running on autopilot by this point. :’) But hey! I promised a mid-week update, so here I am. Any odd typos I’ll fix later tomorrow when I’m actually awake. In the meantime...
> 
> I had Dog Eats Dog from Les Mis stuck in my head the entire time I was writing this. I don’t know what that means, but I’m worried.


	16. Pancakes and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus, Taako and Angus arrive at the aforementioned hotel. Lucretia is very good at giving pointed looks.

The Sheraton Grand is not a small hotel.

Somehow, Magnus thinks, it manages to cover all the bases of the classic Californian resort without actually being too intimidating. Or perhaps it is intimidating. Perhaps Magnus is just too tired to notice it.

By the time they reach it (just in time, probably, cruising into the lobby by the skin of their teeth) the sun is shining directly overhead and the heat of it is bearing down on them like an insidious wall-flower. It makes the many windows of the hotel glint in the smashed-up brightness, every panel reflecting something different, and by the end of it only serves to emphasise the stark contrast between that of this place and the dirty motel of the night before. Trust Lucretia to choose a palace of a resort. She’s always been better at manipulating the higher ground, Magnus thinks. In a way, it’s just damn typical.

They enter the lobby at what Magnus hopes to be a reasonable enough time – and sure enough, there is Lucretia, standing tall and proud and dressed for the summer heat, and suddenly Magnus thinks that has never wanted anything more than to see her.

She catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and then she smiles – and then frowns, taking in the enormity of personality that is Taako stood just behind him, and then the ten-year-old child that is apparently a world-famous boy detective. She stops several metres from Magnus’ outstretched arms, and says, “You look fucking terrible.”

Magnus figured that might be the case. He tries to smile at her and finds his face wobbling dangerously. “I’m fine,” he replies, hoping that his voice sounds as even to her ears as it does to his, “Lucretia – it’s good to see you.”

His voice is not convincing and both of them know it. With a sigh, Lucretia leans into to wrap her arms around him – or at least, as far around as her arms can reach. She’s shorter than him by quite a lot, and she’s always been a bit on the slim side, but Magnus has known her for so long now that it no longer makes a difference. They know each other intimately, like sun and stars, left and right. He has always been her friend, and she had always been his. It’s how things are supposed to be – and this single slice of normalcy is what makes Magnus want to cry most of all. She’s here. He’s here. The world has not yet fallen apart so completely that he has nowhere to turn to, no-one to go to. There is yet a chance for Magnus, stuck fast in this world of uncertainty. He returns her hug with love.

(For a moment, he wonders what his life would be like if things had been different, if had never met Taako at the gas station, never allowed Angus to come along with them. The thought makes him feel strangely lonely.)

Lucretia leans back from the hug and glances over at Taako and Angus, her dark eyes ever-so-slightly suspicious. For a moment, Magnus allows himself to see them as Lucretia might see them: one spindly, one small and too polite for his years; one harrowed and thin of face, the other short and broad and too afraid of consequence to ever be anything but civil. It breaks his heart just a little.

“Lucretia,” he says, turning to her, and then to the others. “This is Taako and Angus. Taako, Angus, this is Lucretia. I…” Magnus’ attention is caught by the dark-eyed looks passing between that of Lucretia and Taako. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Lucretia says quickly. She darts a quizzical glance at Taako, and asks, “Did you encourage this road trip?”

“That depends,” Taako shoots back, before Magnus can interrupt them both, “Are you about to end it?”

Lucretia blinks at him; a troubled look steals over her face. She casts a quick glance at Magnus. “I don’t know,” she says curtly, raising her eyebrows in a way that suggests Magnus is probably in trouble, “I think I’d like to talk about it, really. Have you had any breakfast yet?”

The last question is directed at Angus, Magnus realises; he ducks down his head to look at him and finds Angus looking back. For whatever reason, he seems even more afraid of Lucretia that he was of Magnus.

“No, ma’am…” Angus says, and then coughs. “I—” He darts another quick glance at Magnus. “Can we have pancakes, sir?”

Magnus tries not to let Lucretia’s stare get to him anymore than it already has. “I’m sure it can be arranged,” he replies. Angus smiles. Bizarrely, Magnus gets the urge to smile to. It shouldn’t be so easy to make a kid happy, he thinks. It shouldn’t be this easy at all.

“Right,” Lucretia says. She gestures towards the dining room. “Pancakes it is, I suppose.”

Lucretia is mad at him, Magnus thinks, as he follows on behind Taako and Angus into the brightly-lit dining hall, with its high vaulted ceilings and well-upholstered chairs. It shouldn’t surprise him, but for some reason it still does. Lucretia has no right to be angry with him, not really. Magnus is already angry enough at himself. He doesn’t need someone else to do his job for him. He _knows_ abandoning Julia to her grave and her mourners was wrong. But was it wrong enough to be punished for? Magnus had been afraid – he still was. Was that really such a crime?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, Lucretia is consistently excellent when it comes to giving someone the cold shoulder. Magnus wonders idly why it seems to extend to Taako as well.

“So,” Lucretia says, her arms folded in front of her, fingers interlocking. She glances sideways as Angus, now fully-absorbed by a truly staggering amount of pancakes, then looks back at Magnus and Taako. As a symbol of shared defiance, the two of them are sitting remarkably close together. “How did you two meet?”

“That sounds like a date question,” Taako accuses, before Magnus can speak on their behalf, “Is it a date question? Because like, I am very engaged. Super-duper engaged. Could not be any more engaged than I already am, actually.”

“He hijacked my car,” Magnus amends, thinking privately that it is an excellent summary of Taako as a person. “We decided to travel together. Things just sort of spiralled from there.”

Lucretia glances sideways at Angus, still consumed by the ever-benevolent grace of food. “And then you kidnapped a child?”

Taako snorts “The kid kidnapped himself,” he says disparagingly. “It’s not our fault he’s taken to hiding in the trunk of people’s cars.”

Lucretia gives him an icy glare. “Right,” she says shortly. The eyes jump quickly to look at Magnus. “You’re an incredibly long way away from home, Magnus.”

Something harsh and familiar settles in the very depths of Magnus’ stomach. He glances at Taako. “Yeah,” he says, “I suppose I am.”

“And you’re not coming back?”

These words, Magnus notices, are not said like the rest. Lucretia may act like his older sister, but at heart—

Oh, God. There’s so much sadness in her words. So much confusion. Magnus’ heart grimaces for her.

“Not yet, Luc.” he says quietly, hoping, for just a moment, that Taako and Angus will disappear into smoke, that he and Lucretia will be alone again, like normal, like always. But it doesn’t happen, and things don’t go back to normal. Because this is what is normal.

Yes, Magnus thinks. This is his normal now. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Perhaps he shouldn’t feel at all. Just think, and notice. But not too much.

After all, there are things hiding in Lucretia’s face that Magnus would rather not see, and he  certainly has no intention of pledging honesty now. So he lies instead.

“Soon,” he amends, as Lucretia starts to wilt and Angus starts to notice. Magnus wonders if he ever stopped. “I just need more time. Just a little more.”

By his side, Taako shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He glances sideways at Angus, then at Lucretia. (Privately, Magnus thinks there is far too much turning of heads in this conversation.) Slowly, he says, “Are we, like, staying here? For the duration or whatever?”

Lucretia, it would seem, has apparently made peace with whatever part of Taako’s personality she most despises. She smiles at him and watches as his eyes flicker.

“If you’re worried about money,” she says, picking up a fork from the table and playing absently with the tines, “I can help you with that. You can stay here as long as you need to. I already have a room. It’s a very nice place.”

Taako hums as if thinking it over, but Magnus knows already that he is going to say yes. He’s just that sort of person, Magnus thinks.

“Is there a bar,” he says finally. It does not sound like a question. Slowly, Magnus shifts forwards to place his head in his hands. Getting drunk with Taako sounds like one of the worst ideas he’s ever heard—and he knows that this is exactly what Taako is planning.

Lucretia, however, looks invested – and of course she would, Magnus remembers, because Lucretia loves goddamn red wine. Goddamn it. Magnus is surrounded by casual alcoholics.

“The hotel bar stays open until late,” she says, “But there’s another one around the corner from here, just up the street.” A sideways glance at Magnus. “They have very good wine.”

“Oh, to hell with you.”

Lucretia raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “There’s a child present, Magnus.”

“Fine. To heck with you. Do you really think I’m going to stay here and get drunk with you?”

Lucretia, however, looks offended at the mere suggestion. “Of course not,” she says. “You’re going to get drunk with Taako, and _I’m_ going to teach Angus here for to play Bridge.”

Angus, now toying with a small stack of waffles, announces, “I already know how to play Bridge, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Finally, a worthy contender of my skills.” She looks again at Magnus. “I want to help you, Mags,” she says softly, and for a moment Magnus can see her as she was twenty or so years ago: a soft-spoken girl who reads constantly and barely ever looks up from her books. She had worn glasses, then. Now she wears contacts. Magnus thinks idly that she is probably made of steel. “I’m not about to drag you home against your will. It would be pointless. Alcohol is much more satisfying than another two weeks of driving.”

Privately, Magnus agrees – but there’s something else in Lucretia’s eyes that suggests she has a completely ulterior motive for doing so regardless. Magnus just can’t figure out what it is yet. But he will. He always does, eventually.

“Fine,” he relents, wrenching his thoughts away from the path they want to wander down, the one that involves words like _talking_ and _therapy_ and _I’m worried about how you’re taking this, Mags_. They’ve had that conversation before. They don’t need to have it again. “One night. That’s all. Then we’re moving on.”

Lucretia smiles back at him sadly as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. She probably does. “Of course,” she replies. “This hotel is a pretty great place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to update this again by next Tuesday or sooner!


	17. Dearly Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus mourns. Taako drinks to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you all: This chapter is a pretty heavy one. Involves themes of depression, loss and alcohol, and using alcohol as a coping mechanism - which, you know, you obviously should not do. This is not healthy! Please do not follow Taako’s example. Author Pyrrhlc, over and out.

At the bar, Taako gets considerably drunk.

“I’m not drunk,” he complains, after Magnus tactfully suggests they return to the hotel. “I’m not drunk at all. I’m fucking _flying_ , Magnus. I’m riding my own damn unicorn.”

“Taako,” Magnus says. It’s a pointless endeavour. Taako doesn’t listen to him whilst sober, never mind whilst on the verge of blacking out. Idly, Magnus wonders just how he let this happen. “Taako, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

Sat down at one of the crowded bar tables, Taako flops suddenly onto his side, his arms splayed out like a failed parachute – a broken bird in flight. He looks up at Magnus through purple-lidded eyes and says, “I don’t understand why you do this to yourself, you know.”

He doesn’t sound drunk. He sounds incredibly sober. He doesn’t sound drunk, but Magnus knows that he is. He has to keep telling himself that, or both of them are lost. Another part of him wonders what it would be like, to take away all responsibility in the way Taako does. He wonders if he would have the nerve, to rely on others to get him home safely, and never ever depend on himself. Probably not, he decides.

For an utterly trustless person, Taako seems to need him an awful lot tonight.

He gives in on the prior plan and sits down next to Taako instead. He hates having conversations with drunk people.

“Do what, Taako?”

Taako waves a hand at him feebly. “Dunno,” he mumbles, “Can’t remember. Are you sure you don’t want another drink?”

He’s been drinking soda for the entire night. He hasn’t told Taako. “I’m fine,” he assures him, and Taako sags back into his chair in relief. He reaches for the glass on the table, but Magnus holds out his arm. “No, no more for you either. If we’re staying, we’re staying exactly as we are.”

For a moment, Taako looks angered by this statement. He breathes in sharply, sitting up in his chair, one hand balanced precariously on his hips, and then—

“I don’t understand it,” he repeats. His voice is quiet and timid and sad. “I don’t understand why we’re here, Mags.”

“I thought you wanted to get drunk.”

“Only because your friend let me,” Taako sniffs. He puts his head down on the table, so that all Magnus can see of him is his bushel of dyed-blond hair. It looks tangled, tonight, Magnus thinks, and sad. All of Taako is sad. Magnus hadn’t realised he’d be this kind of drunk. A part of him had expected Taako to be angry. But not this.

No, he thinks, not this.

During Magnus’ lapse of concentration, Taako has picked up another bottle and poured himself another glass. It’s a big glass. One that Lucretia would be proud of, if she didn’t know the rest of it. Taako is more than a casual alcoholic, it seems. Taako drinks to forget.

It loosens his mouth considerably, and Magnus doesn’t think he’s ever hated anything more.

“I shouldn’t get drunk,” Taako says, echoing Magnus’ thoughts exactly, “It makes me sleepy. I hate being sleepy.”

“And then there’s the liver.”

“The liver?” Taako questions, as if he’s never heard of such a thing. The way he’s going at it, Magnus can believe it. He can believe a lot of things crammed into a tiny Californian bar with flashing lights and an even brighter atmosphere. This entire place is knife-sharp. A small part of Magnus can’t believe Lucretia ever even suggested it. But perhaps that was the point. To get Magnus to see how macabre his life is, how quickly he has fallen from grace. The flashing pink lights above seem to echo it: _You should not have come here. It was a mistake. You are a fool. This is a foolish thing._

Yes, Magnus tells the lights silently, yes, it was a foolish thing. I should know better. I should hace known.

By his side, Taako drains his glass and taps him on the shoulder. It is not a graceful gesture – his fingers travel quickly down Magnus’ shoulder, catching on the collar of his shirt, and suddenly Magnus is hot, his whole body burning with an outpouring of shame and resignation. He snatches back Taako’s fingers and tries to ignore how hurt his face looks, how crumpled he is when he’s not trying to be invincible. It doesn’t work.

There are things Magnus is not meant to see, and this is one of them, but it doesn’t matter, because he is seeing it, and it is not going away.

He holds Taako’s fragile wrist up to his face and tries to get Taako to look at him. He won’t. His eyes are unfocused and cloudy in a way that suggests he isn’t quite with him and hasn’t been for a while. Magnus tries his hardest not to notice that too.

“Taako,” he says firmly, “You’re engaged. I’m married, for God’s sake. This is not a thing that should happen.” A pause. He doesn’t know how to be firm with Taako. “Please stop it.”

Taako’s eyebrows crease into a tiny frown – too small for this face, too great for the tiny creature that Taako has become. “You’re married?” he asks. His voice sounds different than it should; hazy, far-away, like he’s speaking from the other end of a tunnel. Magnus hopes that that is down to Taako and not to him. “I didn’t know you were married,” Taako adds in an awestruck voice. Magnus tries not to let the words hurt him. They do anyway.

“You do, Taako,” he says, as gentle as he can manage, “You do. I told you. Her name was Julia.”

Somehow, in the heat and the brightness of this small space – it’s gigantic, of course it is, but it feels small to him, everything always is, in one way or another; places exclude Magnus as easily as breathing – the words don’t sting as much as they ought to. Or perhaps they ought not to anymore. Perhaps he is getting over it.

No, Magnus thinks, that’s a lie. He’s lying to himself, like Taako so often does. Every fibre of him aches for Julia, every muscle quivers for her livingness – he is pulled towards her essence in a way that he will never be able to escape, and he doesn’t want to. He can’t. Loving Julia had been as easy as breathing. Without her, he finds himself feeling utterly incomplete.

Suddenly, he understands why Taako likes the taste of alcohol so much.

He’s staring at Magnus now with eyes as wide as pennies. “Did you?” he asks. Magnus isn’t sure if Taako will remember this night. For his sake, he hopes he doesn’t. It would be far too revealing for both of them.

To a degree, it’s unclear if Taako is asking Magnus if he _had_ a wife or if he _told_ him. Magnus opts to answer the latter, because to answer the other would be a step further than he is willing to go tonight – or any night for that matter. Some things are just better left unsaid.

 _Yes, I had a wife_ , he imagines telling Taako. _Yes, I loved her. Yes, she’s gone._

Yes, he still dreams about her. No, he’s not going to spent the rest of his life thinking about it. Or perhaps he is.

Deep down, a part of Magnus worries that he’s never going to be able to stop.

“Yes, Taako,” he says, but his voice isn’t his this time – it’s bubbly and infectious and in danger of spilling over on to the table like a sink overflowing. In a way, that’s just what he is. “I told you. I told you in the car.”

This isn’t strictly true, of course, but Magnus supposes it will have to be enough. Taako looks at him like he doesn’t understand – and he probably doesn’t, Magnus thinks.

“What happened to her?”

Magnus heart contracts. God, he really hopes Taako won’t remember this in the morning. “She died, Taako,” he says, as gently as he possibly can. It shouldn’t be Taako that’s caving inwards, really. It’s just unfair. “She died of cancer. It’s why I’m here.”

It’s then that the pieces click, and Magnus realises _exactly_ why Lucretia sent them out here. It’s because of this. Because of these words, and this night, and these lights. Because never, ever would this happen otherwise. In no other time would those words leave his mouth, so willingly and freely. This is what alcohol does, Magnus thinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. It makes liars of them all. And it grasps the truth like a sordid, spoiled thing.

And releases it.

Taako looks up at him with the stumbling clarity that Magnus was most afraid of. He does not fear it any less now. “Dead?” he echoes. “She’s dead?”

Magnus barely feels himself splinter. He can’t. Taako is drunk. Taako has no idea what he’s saying. It isn’t fair to hold it against him.

And yet, a small part of him still feels as if he wants to. To grab him, to shake him by the shoulders and try to chide all the violence and sadness out of him. But it won’t work. It never has. Magnus learnt that in the playground a long time ago.

If things had been different, he might have punched Taako there and then. But he doesn’t, because it isn’t, and the reality of that fact more than anything is what finally tells him that it’s time to go.

“Come on, Taako,” he says, standing up and wrapping Taako’s arm around his shoulders. It’s a wonder he doesn’t lift Taako clean off the ground. He weighs approximately nothing. “Come on, we’re going home.”

“Home?” Taako whispers. He sounds so hopeful.

“To the hotel,” Magnus corrects, gently. He starts towards the exit, but Taako grips his hand. He glances down at him.

“Gone?” he asks again, still drunk, still sounding sober. This time, Magnus answers.

“Yes,” he replies, squeezing Taako’s fingers tight, “Yes, she’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments! I’m going to try my best to get this project finished within the next two weeks, but I can’t make any promises. As much as I’ve enjoyed stretching myself whilst writing this, I’m anxious to move on to other longfic stories - but I’m not going to start anything until I finish this one off, because otherwise nothing will ever get done. :’D
> 
> Based on what remains of my plan, this fic will probably go on to include about twenty chapters - ish. There’s a lot of overarching plot stuff I need to tie down before this fic is finished, and most of it involves Taako’s backstory - so I’ll need to tie *that* off neatly without doing too much info-dumping. I’m a big lad. I can definitely handle this.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Next update should be around Saturday or Sunday, fingers crossed.


	18. Tragedy, Scene 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus coaxes out a truth he would rather not know. Taako evokes the power of silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also rather heavy. More depression focused than anything, but there is also some mention of alcohol.

The first thing Magnus thinks after stepping out of his hotel room is that some days are born to be tragic.

He knocks on Lucretia’s door first, because that seems like the sensible option, but when she opens the door to invite him in Magnus sees right away that it’s a mistake. Angus is curled up on the sofa in the corner, looking considerably cleaner and more put-together than he had been the day before. His shoes are polished, his cap is free of dirt, and his tightly-coiled hair curls around his face in a way that reminds Magnus (erroneously) of spring. He’s deep in a book and doesn’t glance up when Magnus walks in – but Lucretia’s startling eyes seem to make up for the rest of it tenfold. She sits down in an overstuffed armchair and looks up at him as if she knows he’s done wrong, and he definitely has. He sits down on the bed.

“What happened,” Lucretia asks slowly, “last night at the bar? I didn’t see you come in, but—”

Magnus sighs and drags a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to think about last night, not really. Not with Taako refusing to come out of his room, choosing instead to sink deep beneath the duvet and become a creature of the dark and fetid. Magnus knows how a hangover is supposed to feel, but he doesn’t think that’s the only problem here.

“Did we wake Angus?” he asks. He hadn’t wanted to carry Taako through the foyer, but sometimes it was better to have the ugly thing over and done with. Taako had done a lot of yelling. A part of Magnus is surprised that they’ve been allowed to stay here after all of it.

“No,” Lucretia answers, and just for a moment Magnus allows himself a sigh of relief – it is soon contaminated. “But I think he knows. You weren’t exactly quiet, coming back.” A brief glance at Angus. “I was reading – couldn’t have missed it if I wanted to. What happened, Mags?”

Magnus closes his eyes and allows the feeling of light resting on his eyelids to calm him. Just this once, he will allow himself to be tamed. “We didn’t argue,” he says slowly, “we just—Luc, he asked about Julia. And I told him. I’d already promised myself I wasn’t going to—”

Emotion crawls into his vowels without him noticing. Quickly, Lucretia stands up from her chair to wrap her arms around him, the blue silk sleeves of her summer dress pressing up against his face. It’s a comfort, to hold something so familiar and bright. It makes him see colour again. He leans back and wipes at his face with the back of his hand.

“I shouldn’t have told him,” he mutters, more to Lucretia than himself, “I don’t know why I did it.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, much.” Magnus answers – he hates that his stomach clenches at his answer. “Just… He didn’t remember she was gone. He already knew, but then—I had to remind him she was dead.” He stares down at his callused hands, watching as Lucretia watches him. “I’ve never said that before. Until last night. But he was so _hurt_. And he—he had no right to be, really.”

Lucretia moves to sit back in the armchair, drawing her reading glasses out of her pocket and sitting them on the bridge of her nose. She glances idly at the desk beside her, and Magnus notices that there’s a pile of papers resting there like an omen.

“What are those?” he asks, temporarily distracted by the appearance of the new. “Letters?”

Lucretia hums absently. “Angus was telling me,” she says in a slight undertone, “where he’s from, and why he’s here in the middle of—why he’s here with you. They’re letters from his parents.”

Magnus frowns. “Parents?” he echoes. “Does he have them, then?”

Lucretia glances pointedly away from him, towards Angus. No matter. He’s far too deep in his book to notice anything but the words in front and the glass of lemonade beside him. Magnus watches as he reaches for it absently, the cold glass sweating beams of light, and pushes his glasses back up onto his nose. He’ll be a carbon-copy of Lucretia before the week is out, Magnus is sure.

“He’s not listening, Luc.”

“Wrong. Children are always listening, Magnus.” She glances down again at the papers, and Magnus finally manages to identify the expression painted across her face – it’s distaste. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t take him with you,” she says quietly, as Angus turns the page of his book once more. “He’s much better off with you than he is with them, I think.”

“Lucretia—” Magnus says uncertainly. She looks up at him. “Would you mind knocking on Taako’s door? He won’t—he won’t answer me. I think he probably remembers what he said.”

Lucretia raises a single elegant eyebrow. “I doubt it would make any difference,” she says. “You might as well just try again. Perhaps Angus can come with you.”

Magnus frowns, remembering the sordid shadows of the motel, of Taako’s half-wild, half-made expression when he realised exactly what Magnus has dragged them into. He doesn’t want Angus to face that. Hell, he doesn’t even want to face it himself.

“No,” he sighs, “It’s fine. I’ll go and try again. He might want some breakfast by now.”

*

Taako, it turns out, does not want breakfast.

“Leave me alone,” he says, when Magnus knocks gently and eases open the door. It seems bizarre that Taako would forget to lock it, but then so many things Taako does are bizarre it scarcely needs thinking about. He steps into the room and hears Taako hiss.

“Get _out_ , Mags. I don’t want to talk to you.”

The room, as expected, is ragged and yellow and melancholy with the blinds drawn tightly across the windows, shuttering out all sunlight and all sense of space or time. It has the sort of melancholy air to it that any midday shut up of a room has – everything is cast in shadow, even when it shouldn’t be, and the lump under the blanket opposite is not exception.

Magnus lowers himself into the chair by Taako’s beside. There’s a bottle of half-empty whisky on top of the dresser, which is surely a bad sign. It looks like it was opened sometime this morning.

They got back at half-past three. It’s definitely a bad sign.

“Taako?” he asks the lumpy duvet. Taako snarls at him from beneath the blankets and seems to shirt over onto to his side, to face the shuttered window. Magnus can smell the alcohol on his breath even now. Something altogether more vile lingers beneath the faint strain of sweat and isolation. Magnus pats away the suggestion that it might be sick.

“Go away,” Taako repeats, “My head hurts. I don’t want to talk.”

Magnus sighs. The room around him is talk without lights, but he doesn’t want to risk turning them on for fear of aggravating Taako further. They sit in the midday darkness instead. Magnus thinks he can hear the _thump, thump_ of his own heart, the silence is so oppressive.

“We need to talk,” he berates, gently enough that Taako can fight back if he chooses, “We need to talk about what happened last night. How much do you remember?”

The indiscernible shape of Taako beneath the covers curls up a little smaller. “Nothing,” he says in a small voice, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Do you remember what I told you?”

Two overly-bright eyes push themselves up from beneath the covers. Taako looks terrible. There are deep shades of mauve hanging beneath his eyes like half-guillotines, and his tawny-brown skin looks pale and washed out. This is Taako he is not allowed to see – but now he is seeing it once again, and it is simultaneously both more awful and more revealing than ever. Magnus’ heart bleeds for him.

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Taako mumbles. He’s looking at Magnus, but he also isn’t – his eyes appear fixed on a point somewhere above Magnus’ left shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid. _I’m_ stupid.”

Magnus decides he likes Taako better when he feels sorry for nothing and nobody. At least then nobody gets to see him bleed. For a moment, he can see the attraction of keeping yourself locked up so deeply inside – nobody gets in, sure, but neither does anything get out.

“You’re not stupid, Taako.” he consoles. He reaches out a hand to touch Taako’s forehead – it’s hot, like he’s running a fever or something. “You didn’t know why you were saying.”

Taako ducks his head out of reach and snuffles into his pillow. If he’s crying, he’s hiding it extremely well. “I already knew. I shouldn’t have kept talking. I know I shouldn’t.”

“Taako—”

Taako rolls back onto his side and looks up at Magnus with the utmost self-loathing in his eyes. “I asked you if she was gone,” he gulps. “I went too far. Like always.”

“That’s not your fault—”

“When’s it going to end, Mags?” Taako asks him. His eyes are wide, like pennies. “Where’re we gonna go? Where can we—” He breaks down in earnest, then, and the best Magnus can do is pat him gently on the back until Taako mumbles, “You were right, Maggie – I _am_ engaged. And I messed all that up too.” A hiccuping sob. “I want him back. I realise that now. But he’s—he’s—”

Magnus peels away the duvet covers and lifts Taako onto his lap, like a younger brother. He still dressed in last night’s clothes. Taako leans into him and allows himself another dry sob before collapsing entirely. The skin of his wrist is warm against Magnus’ skin. Magnus tries his hardest not to think about the fact that Taako is probably touch-starved.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he admits, like it’s the most sensible thing in the world to admit that not one, but two of them are utterly lost in this dreary hotel landscape. “But I—Taako, are you talking about Kravitz?”

Taako hiccups – then covers his mouth with his hand. “I ran away, Mags,” he whispers, his whiskey-stained breath lingering in the air between them. “I ran away, like you did. But this time it was worse. Because it was—because it was my fault.” He sighs with enough force to make the shutters rattle – Magnus is surprised that they don’t. “He told me he loved me, and I couldn’t take it. Nobody should ever trust another person that much. Nobody should ever trust _me_.”

Magnus pauses for a moment, then asks, “Do you want to go home?”

Taako sniffs again. “He won’t have me,” he says, his wild hair dangerously close to Magnus’ mouth. “I left him. I swore I wouldn’t come back. He never even got the truth out of me.” He looks up at Magnus. “I don’t know how to be serious,” he sniffs, “I just turn everything into a fucking joke. And Krav was so genuine, always – he deserves better than me. He deserves to love someone that isn’t me.”

Magnus says nothing, watching as Taako blows his nose again on his sleeve. They are such soft, spoiled things, all of them – what is one more act of callousness in a world that doesn’t care?

He says nothing, because there is nothing to say. He says nothing, because sometimes days are just meant to be tragic, and this day is one of the most tragic of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is slightly incoherent - I am *pretty* sick right now, but I promised I’d get this up by the end of the weekend, so here it is. Eventually we’ll get to the climax of this plot. Eventually.
> 
> Thank you once again for your kind comments and kudos! It means the world, truly. Next update should be around Wednesday or Thursday, useless antibodies permitting. :’D


	19. A Well-Entrusted Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angus and Magnus have a heart-to-heart. Lucretia glowers.

Magnus closes the door quietly on his way out. Taako is asleep again, properly now, and Magnus is content for him to go on sleeping until the migraine goes away and his worries leave too. One will take considerably longer to fade away than the other, but then, isn’t that just the very essence of tragedy?

Magnus has to find a way to heal him. He couldn’t save Julia, but he will save Taako. It’s what he most deserves, after all.

He leans against the wooden frame of the door, listening for Taako’s sheltered breaths, and doesn’t notice Angus until he steps out right in front of him. Magnus sighs.

“Angus—” he says, but the rebuke is already dying on his lips, “Angus, go back to your room.”

The kid shakes his head. He’s standing stiff and resolute in a way that makes Magnus almost nervous. “Madame Lucretia sent me to find you, sir,” he says, his eyes big and serious. He glances down suddenly, scuffing at the carpet with the hell of his shoe. “She says you’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

Magnus looks at him. “Your words or hers?” he asks. A tentative smile breaches Angus’ lips; Magnus feels proud for having put it there. It’s almost like being a responsible adult.

“Hers, sir.” he says, ducking down his head again. “Obviously.” He pauses, then, and for a moment all that can be heard is the sound of Angus’ tiny Oxfords tapping against the thick skirting. Finally, he says, “What are we going to do about Mr Taako, sir? And your wife?”

If the first question is enough to startle him, the second is enough to make him choke. Magnus stares down at him incredulously. “How—” he croaks, and then tries again, “How could – how did you—”

Angus smiles up at him triumphantly – a real grin this time, not the small smile of before. He has extremely white teeth that are perfectly straight, which is only mildly alarming in lieu of recently-revealed information.

“I’m the world’s greatest detective, sir.” he replies. What he really means is that he’s a snoop and an eavesdropper, but Magnus finds himself feeling fond enough of him that he doesn’t point this out. Instead he sighs again and drops down against the red-brocade wall, his legs folding beneath him like they’re tired of holding him up. Angus plops down beside him with a curious expression on his face.

“Aren’t we going to see Madame Lucretia, sir?”

“Not unless we want to be punished, Ango.” Magnus replies. He reaches out a hand to ruffle the kid’s hair fondly – Angus’ tiny baker’s boy cap is clutched tightly into two white-knuckled fists. Magnus tries his best not to consider the fact that Angus is probably still afraid of him. It’s a sensible fear.

“So,” he says, “How did you find out about Julia? And Taako, for that matter.”

Angus glances sideways at him, a glimmer of doubt shining in his wood-coloured eyes. In another life, Magnus thinks wistfully, he might have been the one to raise this kid. He thinks of Lucretia’s stack of letters – how easy had it been, for her to gain his trust with such absolution? – for a moment and feels his body shudder.

“Sir?” Angus asks. He fiddles absently with the buttons on his waistcoat. “I won’t – we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I don’t want to upset you or anything.”

Magnus blinks. His eyes feel slightly moist. “It’s not that, Angus,” he says, thinking privately that if he were Taako, he would’ve come up with a hundred over nicknames already for this tiny, reclusive child, “It’s just – you know. A lot.”

Angus nods solemnly. “I know, sir,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment, then, “I don’t suppose we ever want the things we need, do we?”

It’s a little out of the blue, but then Magnus is fine with that, because this is Angus and Angus is a child – a child who has seen far too much far too quickly to ever be on a level adjacent to that of his peers. Idly, Magnus wonders how hard it might be to adopt someone whose parents claim to still love him. He supposes all he needs is Lucretia’s papers.

“I don’t know,” he replies at last, because although he may be an adult, he does not know the world’s every secret and cannot pretend to. “I’m not sure I know what I need, to be honest with you, Ango.”

Angus smiles as if they’ve just shared a secret together. They probably have, Magnus thinks distractedly. He needs to start paying more attention.

“I think you need to feel loved,” Angus says carefully. He tilts his head to glance back at the door to Taako’s room. “And I think Mr Taako needs to feel loved, too.”

“He is loved, Angus.”

Angus nods, as if this is another deeply-entrusted secret. “Madame Lucretia loves you as well,” he observes, and once again Magnus can’t help but think that this is a child with a small _massa_ of secrets – what other kid would be so idealistic and enamoured as to run away to books and trains? “And I’m sure Mrs Julia did, too.”

Magnus’ eyes are definitely burning now, but that’s fine. It’s all fine, somehow. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “She definitely did.” A small pause stretches between them. “I loved her as well. Very much so, actually.”

Angus hums in agreement. He’s not looking at Magnus, which is rather tactful of him. Magnus somehow finds himself warming to him more and more with every passing second. Eventually, he asks, “Could we bring Taako’s fiancé back to him, sir?”

Magnus leans back against the wall and glances sideways at Angus. There’s something a little too like determination in his eyes and it’s starting to make Magnus feel uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure how we’d manage that to be honest, Angus.” he replies, though some part of him does feel slightly hopeful when he thinks of it – after all, Taako _does_ deserve to be loved. Perhaps all he needs is a little nudge in the right direction.

It could go horribly wrong, but then, perhaps a part of Magnus almost expects it to – Taako is not one to take others’ decisions lying down, after all. But perhaps they can try. Trying, if nothing else, is Magnus’ speciality. He smiles down at Angus.

“I suppose the world’s greatest detective is good at tracking down waylaid fiancés?”

Angus nods happily. “Always have been, sir.” he says, pulling his back low over his perpendicular ears. “It’s a peculiar side-effect of reading _Jane Eyre_ three times over the summer holidays.”

*

Lucretia, unsurprisingly, does not agree with their plan.

“You’re making a mistake, Magnus,” she insists, after he and Angus have sat down to eat their breakfast. Angus had suggested more pancakes, and now, with his mouth glued together with honey and syrup, Magnus thinks that he can respect Angus’ decision. It prevents him from answering Lucretia straight away, which is incredibly useful.

Lucretia does not drop her gaze, however, so Magnus swallows and says, “He’s unhappy, Lucretia. We have to try. It might even work.”

“If he doesn’t want to see his fiancé again,” Lucretia warns, “He doesn’t want to see him. You shouldn’t be interfering in other people’s personal lives, Magnus.”

Magnus snorts. He can’t help it. Lucretia has always acted like his older sister (never mind the fact that they’re exactly the same age) but she seems to be invoking that particular aspect of her character now more than ever. He stares her down with a look of his own.

“If you believed that,” he says, his voice low, “You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be trying to help me in the first place, would you? I care about him, Lucretia. That’s all.”

Lucretia glares back at him. “You ran away from Julia’s funeral,” she says, and if her voice is tarter than it needs to be, well, Magnus doesn’t have to think about it. “She’s gone, Magnus. There’s no-one else to hurt. But this fiancé of his—”

“Kravitz.”

“How would you even find him?” she replies. Magnus watches as she drags a hand through her shorn hair – brown, mostly, now streaked with skeins of white (but then, Lucretia has always been the stressful sort) – and allows a sigh to rattle through her teeth. No doubt this is the Lucretia students see every day at school – exasperated, bewildered, bored beyond belief. She’s an excellent teacher, Magnus things, but she’s awful at telling him what to do.

Right on cue, Angus lifts up his head from his pancakes and says, “I can find him, Ma’am.”

Lucretia looks at him like she looks at one of her students. It doesn’t seem to deter Angus in the slightest.

“I can,” he affirms, puffing his chest out proudly, making Magnus feel something like some kind of terribly irresponsible dad, “I’m the world’s greatest detective. I’ve found loads of lost things.”

Magnus glances sideways, half-amused, half-worried that Lucretia may just be right. “Is Kravitz lost?” he asks.

Angus looks at him with a frown between his eyebrows. It looks as if someone has placed it there.

“Taako is,” he answers. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

Magnus feels himself smiling – quietly, but smiling nonetheless. “Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t look at Lucretia. Some decisions, he reflects, just have to make themselves. “Yeah, that’s all that matters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! I thought a lot about Angus today.
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments! <3


	20. Kravitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus travels. Kravitz talks.

Magnus is apprehensive.

There aren’t that many Kravitz’s living in and around Los Angeles. Intellectually, he knows this. Intellectually, he knows they maybe this man won’t be as hard to find as Lucretia had assumed. Angus is a smart kid. Lucretia has a laptop. The Internet is a remarkable place. They might just do it.

It makes him nervous.

Angus is sat typing away at Lucretia’s laptop, his tiny hands pounding away at the keys as if to pause for a single second is to ruin Taako’s life. As it stands, the damage may have already been done. Lucretia, to an extent, is almost always right – what if all of this backfires? What if, at the end of the day, Taako really doesn’t want to go home?

Magnus doesn’t think that’s true, in all honesty. He’s seen Taako’s face when he’s drunk. He knows where that man wants to be. The only problem is, Taako doesn’t seem to think he deserves it.

Another thing: Taako dislikes being pushed.

But Magnus can’t claw himself away from this. He wants to give Taako happiness, if he can. Even if he doesn’t appreciate it in the beginning, the opportunity will still be there.

If he wants to, Taako can still go home.

The thought of it both delights him and saddens him immensely. He hasn’t been thinking of Julia all that much recently. He doesn’t know whether that’s a good or a bad sign. She’s gone, and he still loves her, and logically, things are still exactly the same as when he left home: she’s still gone, he still loves her, and he’s still grieving because of it. One thing Magnus has learnt, if he has learnt anything at all: the pain doesn’t stop. The pain never, ever stops. Magnus’ grief is a whirlpool, a hurricane that will never blow itself out. If he doesn’t stop it – stop this – he will go on wrecking things until the end of time. It’s how hearts are meant to act, but this time, it’s useless. He’s useless.

Magnus will seek out happiness for Taako but not himself. His own heart can’t be fixed that way and he knows it deeply.

Sat cross-legged on one of the two twin beds in Lucretia’s room (she’s gone to town to find clothes for Angus, having fussed over him yesterday and measured him from almost every angle; Magnus probably should have thought of that first, but then this whole experience is probably why Lucretia is considered a Proper Adult and he is not, so he’ll consent) Angus’ head jerks up sharply as the laptop buzzes, and he says, in a half-satisfied, half-triumphant voice, “I think I’ve found him, sir.”

Magnus goes over to have a look. A man’s face blinks placidly back at him from the monitor. He looks kind of like a funeral director, but then, maybe not. He could also be a vampire. A tall, black, handsome vampire, his long, locked hair pulled back from his face in a way that makes Magnus’ own scalp feel faintly jealous. He studies the man’s chestnut-brown eyes and comes to the conclusion that they are kind – despite the suit, and the cravat, and the general impression that this man does not belong in this era. Magnus is slowly getting used to this kind of feeling. He’s been living alongside Taako for several weeks now, after all.

“He looks nice,” Angus comments, after Magnus doesn’t say anything. “Do you think he’s nice?”

Magnus frowns. “Maybe,” he replies. He doesn’t know why he says maybe. There’s no reason to. Possibly, it has something to do with the way Angus is looking at him – longingly, like a son seeking his father.

His eyes move down the page. There’s a number there, beneath the profile, and an address too. Los Angeles. Like they’d expected. But more importantly…

“Huh,” he says, “He lives in Manhattan Beach.”

“Does that matter?”

“Taako’s sister lives there.”

Angus presses a finger to the screen. “Do you want to call him, sir?”

Magnus nods. This is for Taako. He can call up a random stranger for Taako’s sake. He pulls out his mobile and punches in the numbers.

“Ready?”

Another nod. Another breath. Magnus ducks his head and presses the CALL button, his heart beating fervently in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings he’s harbouring right now. Not all of them are to do with Taako and Kravitz.

No, some of those feelings are to do with Angus, and Magnus isn’t sure he wants to examine those just yet.

The ringing stops. On the other end of the line, someone fumbles with the phone in their hand. At last they say, “Hello?”

Bizarrely, Kravitz sounds British. Magnus isn’t sure why that’s what his brain has decided to latch on to, but then, his brain has committed stranger deeds before.

“Hi,” he replies, his head in the conversation, his eyes on Angus, who is looking right back at him. His big brown eyes are doleful and heartbreakingly wide, and the only coherent thing he can possibly think is that to have Angus as a son would be the greatest gift of all. “This is, uh, an unusual request, but—”

“I prepare cadavers for a living,” Kravitz replies evenly. His tone is soft and reassuring and sad in places that Magnus cannot name. He’s also apparently an undertaker. “I’m sure your request isn’t the strangest.”

Magnus snorts at that. He can’t help it. At the end of the day, how do you ask a man to come and make peace with his fiancé? “I want you to come and see Taako,” he says, spontaneously deciding that a direct approach is probably the best one. Right after this, he realises he doesn’t know Taako’s last name. Do people like Taako have last names? “I’m—I’m not really a friend, I guess. He hijacked my car and we ended up on a road trip. I promise this premise isn’t as strange as it sounds.”

Kravitz’s silence is profound. Eventually, he asks, “You’re there with Taako?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ask for me?”

The longing in his voice is heart breaking. Magnus struggles not to put the phone down. “No,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “but he wants – he wants to see you.”

Kravitz snorts. “I believe that when I hear it from Taako himself,” he says, though it’s more a mumble than anything, and probably something that Magnus isn’t meant to hear, “I—who are you again? Magnus?”

“Yes,” Magnus replies. From the bed, Angus is making shooing motions with his hands that seem to indicate Magnus is doing this completely the wrong way. He _knows_. He’s here, for God’s sake. He shushes Angus with a wave of his hand and says to Kravitz, “I want to see you. I want to know what went down between you and Taako.”

“To what end?”

“He’s very unhappy, Kravitz,” he replies, and Magnus can hear him sigh, long and uneasy and full of pain, “I want to help him. And I know he doesn’t—”

“He doesn’t want me back, Magnus.” Kravitz replies, saying Magnus’ name in the way that only strangers ever do, “He really doesn’t. We had a huge fight. I haven’t seen him in over a year. I know you’re just trying to help him—”

“A year can do a lot to a person—”

“—but I don’t think what you’re proposing is wise,” Kravitz completes, ignoring Magnus’ outburst. “Listen, I have to get back to work—”

“One hour. That’s all I’m asking of you. I know you live in Los Angeles, near Lup. Can’t we find a midway point?”

Kravitz sighs again. He sounds slightly irritated. “Magnus—”

“Taako doesn’t have to know. Not if you don’t want him to.”

Finally, Kravitz seems to cave. Magnus breathes an invisible breath of relief. “Fine,” he says. “There’s a diner near Harbour Gateway that I’m fond of. You want to meet there?”

“Yes,” Magnus says. His heart is beating frantically in his chest. “What time?”

“Seven tonight,” Kravitz replies. He gives a grim little chuckle; it makes Magnus’ ribs shiver. “It’s a date.”

*

Climbing back into an empty car feels strange, after everything. It feels odd. It feels lonely. Magnus shuffles his feet in the silence and tries to convince himself that this won’t end as terribly as it might. Taako doesn’t know. If this goes wrong, he won’t ever have to. They’ll carry on with their lives and neither of them will ever be any different. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

He says it, mutters it under his breath as he fires up the engine and backs up on to the road, but he doesn’t believe it.

The diner he walks into at 6:55 is sweltering with people. The evening heat is boiling here, without the aid of air conditioning, and Magnus feels it keenly as he sits down on a red leather bar stool in what is possibly one of the most overpriced greasy spoons in Los Angeles. To call it a diner is a bit of a stretch, he thinks. It feels like a place forgotten. This place says more about LA than any speakeasy ever could – the black-and-white tiling beneath his feet is nauseating to look at, and the pale primrose lights shining behind the counter are anything but kind – they shine like daggers in the half-light, stealing the shadows from beneath Magnus’ eyes, stealing all his youth away. They remind him of the motel lights, somehow – they belong to a place both bright and haggard all at once, light and dark, new and old. The stainless steel counter beneath his clenched fists has the ability to transform his face into a billion different shapes. He’s in a hall of mirrors.

“You want a drink, doll?”

The woman behind the counter is bright eyed and covered in red lipstick. Not all of it is confined to her mouth. Clearing his throat, Magnus coughs and says, “Soda, please.”

That red-tinged, red-ripped mouth smiles widely to reveal a hoard of bright white teeth. “Sure thing,” she replies, and as she walks away towards the fridge Magnus is left with the impression that he just survived some kind of shark attack. Motor-side diners are not meant for ordinary beings.

“Magnus?”

The voice is hesitant, doubtful. It belongs to Kravitz. Magnus turns his head to see the 3D-version of Angus’ photograph walking towards him; he looks different in person, or maybe it’s just the lights; the searing fluorescents above make him appear hesitant, paler, smaller. On closer inspection, Magnus can see that he’s exhausted; despite the suit and cufflinks, the highly-polished shoes and simple watch chain (at this, he thinks bizarrely of Angus) Kravitz looks like a man who’s falling apart. Magnus can only guess at who’s doing it to him – this is a man who loves Taako more than Taako loves himself, and it shows.

God, it shows.

He looks strangely incongruous in this setting, which it makes it even harder to believe that this is a favourite haunt of Kravitz’s – this is a place meant for plastic people, ideally; orange-faced women with bleach-blond hair and monstrous red mouths; heavy-set men with more money than friends and firearms under their jackets, preening and pruning like wild-eyed birds. It isn’t meant for men with messy hearts like Kravitz, who work diligently in funeral parlours and wear their hearts triumphantly on their sleeve. This place isn’t meant for honest people – which Magnus supposes is the point.

 _Taako would thrive amongst plastic people_ , he thinks, and hates, because it’s not true, really—but why else would Kravitz pick someone so quintessentially Taako? It’s a plastic place for a plastic meeting. Suddenly, Magnus feels plastic too. He barely notices the soda being placed in front of him and Kravitz ordering his own drink.

The man turns to him now with something like sympathy and something like caution. “OK,” he says, laying his lithe fingers flat on the table, dark skin standing in sharp contrast with that of a dozen silver rings, all different sizes, all inlaid with different stones, “I’m here. I came. And so I have to ask: What do you want from me, Magnus? Realistically, I mean. Because I’ll tell you now, you won’t ever be able to make Taako do what you want him to. Even if you have made a friend out of each other.”

Magnus snaps out of his own head and turns to him, one hand on the sweating glass bottle of his soda. Kravitz is holding a watery cup of tea that looks like it could murder a person if that person gave them half a chance. It reminds him of something else—something Taako has mentioned but never really talked about, and now he finds himself with the perfect opportunity to ask.

“Why’s he so afraid of cooking?”

Whatever question, whatever plea Kravitz was expecting – well, Magnus can tell that this isn’t it. He blinks for a moment and pauses before answering. It’s a short answer.

“Poison.”

“Sorry?”

“His sous chef tried to kill him, back when he still owned the restaurant.” Kravitz says, without any hesitation, like it’s the most ordinary thing to say in the world. By now, it probably is – what part of Taako is normal, exactly? “We met when he was still in training. Before the original place went bust and Taako bought it out of his own savings. He used to – he’d give me extra salad, or ice cream or something, when I came in for a meal. We’d been dating for about six months or so when this happened. Sazed tried to poison one of the food critics that came in, and Taako with it.”

Magnus’ head is still stuck on Taako being _smitten_. He lets it go. “What happened then?”

“Lots of customers ordered the same dish – the sous chef, Sazed, he’d dumped a load of arsenic in there when Taako wasn’t looking. I know, I know,” he says, in reply to Magnus’ muddled expression, “Taako should have noticed. But he didn’t. It didn’t bear well for him afterwards – a chef should know if a dish doesn’t look right, or smell right. He didn’t even taste it, he was too nervous. So they had that against him too. And then…” Kravitz’s fingers tighten around the porcelain-white cup in his hands, and Magnus thinks that he looks faintly sick. He knows the feeling. “The food critic died, along with several customers. Taako called me from the station, absolutely distraught. He didn’t know what had happened. They were going to try him for multiple counts of murder – hell, Sazed hadn’t even vouched for Taako, had just let him get arrested, pointed right to him when the police came in. Taako had an inkling then, but he didn’t want – he couldn’t think about it. He trusted Sazed more than anyone else. More than me, at the time.”

Something terrible is bubbling in Magnus’ stomach. It feels like fear. “How was he cleared?”

Kravitz looks at him grimly. “He wasn’t,” he says, looping his fingers around the fragile handle of his teacup, “not really. Nobody could prove that Taako had killed the critic – as well as half the customers – but neither could they prove that Sazed was responsible either. Sazed got away. But Taako knows he did it. He found arsenic on the guy’s apron, stuffed between two cupboards.”

“Then why didn’t he come forward?”

“Taako doesn’t trust,” Kravitz says, his expression pained beyond relief. “He trusted Sazed and Sazed betrayed him. Who’s to say the police wouldn’t do the same? They wanted an answer and found none. They wanted someone. Taako didn’t want it to be him.”

“And Sazed—?”

Kravitz locks eyes with him. “He did it,” he says, his voice tinged with tired hate, “He’d always been jealous of Taako’s skill as a chef. If Taako hadn’t bought out the restaurant – hell, if the restaurant hadn’t gone bust in the first place he would have been in charge of everything. Taako ruined him in more ways than one and he hated him for it. But Taako trusted him.”

“But Taako doesn’t trust?” Magnus questions, one eyebrow raised. Kravitz looks back at him with all of tragedy reflected in his eyes.

“Not anymore. And he hates cooking for the people he cares about. He knows it wasn’t him, deep down, but really – he’s never been more afraid of messing up in his life. I thought it would have faded a little now,” he adds unhappily, and something in Magnus’ heart breaks a little, to see such a man shattered by others’ callous actions. Why would Taako run away from someone who so clearly loves him?

Or perhaps that _is_ the reason. Perhaps Taako is afraid of love, just as he is afraid of cooking, of staying, of putting down roots and putting down a life. Taako is afraid of love, and of being loved. Kravitz loved him – and still loves him – to the extreme, and in his panic, Taako had mistaken compassion for sympathy and a life of love for a life of obligations. A chain of worry and grief. To care about someone was to know you might lose them – and Taako had never wanted to lose Kravitz, never wanted him to leave.

And so Taako had left. Before Kravitz could. Before Kravitz could realise that he wasn’t worth loving.

It isn’t true, any of it, and it makes Magnus’ entire body blue with sadness to think of it, of this man without friends, this man without trust, isolating himself still further in an attempt to keep safe all those he holds dear. It isn’t strength, to be alone, but it feels like it.

Taako has made a living out of being alone, and it is this living that has made him what he is. He is not cruel, but he pretends to be.

He is not alone, but he is, really.

Magnus’ heart bleeds with pity. He looks up at Kravitz and Kravitz looks back.

“You won’t come back to the hotel?”

“Is that where Taako is?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t, Magnus.”

“You could.”

Kravitz smiles at him sadly. Pityingly. “I could tell you,” he says slowly, “exactly what Taako told me, when he left home. But I won’t. I don’t need to. The point is, he really doesn’t want to see me, Magnus.”

“He does,” Magnus insists, but even in his throat the words sound hollow, mediocre, pointless. “I’m sure he does.”

Kravitz reaches into his jacket and pulls out a wallet. He drops some change onto the table and stands up to leave. “I have to go,” he says, “I have a visitation to attend to in the morning. Goodnight, Magnus.”

“Kravitz—”

“Not a word of this to Taako,” the man warns. Magnus slumps his shoulders. He knows when to give in and when to press on. Now is time to give in. Go home. Go back to Julia, and weep over her grave. At long last, he deserves that final right. That final mark of peace, and solitude. He steps down from the counter and holds his hand out to Kravitz.

“I’m sorry.”

Kravitz smiles. “Don’t be,” he says. He holds out his left hand to grab hold of Magnus’ right; there’s a slim silver engagement ring on his wedding finger, and it looks as old and tarnished as Magnus’ – they’re two very different rings, he thinks, belonging to two very different people. “These things happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this is so clunky - I wasn’t sure how else to get Taako’s history with Kravitz across, but I did the best I could. There should be marginally less exposition in the next update. :’D


	21. Funeral Procession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus returns to the hotel. Drama ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for suicidal thoughts in this chapter folks! Magnus gets himself into a bit of a bad headspace, but doesn’t do anything drastic. That said, please read with caution. Author Pyrrhlc, over and out.

The last thing Magnus thinks before entering the hotel is that he should have known better.

He should have, he really should have – who else would travel a good five miles to a greasyspoon in search of a happy ending? Magnus would. And Magnus had got what he deserved: am empty promise, a tired wish, a single pair of exhausted eyes. Two, perhaps, if he should dare to count his own. What had he expected? Faith, a solution of some kind. What had he received?

Nothing. Only foolish people would expect anything less than that.

Magnus is warrant to be foolish.

He sighs before wrenching open the hotel door – and then he stops, standing stock-still in the foyer. Despite the hour, it is not an empty place. The desk clerk is gone, but not the guests.

It’s amazing how much rage Taako manages to exude, considering his size. He shouldn’t be menacing at all. He’s too pretty to be harmful, too self-conceited to be anything but blasé and unruffled – except when he shows himself to be none of those things at all. Taako is not self-conceited, not when it matters. When it matters he is terribly and absolutely in the moment, and right now his narrowed eyes and pursed lips have their attentions fixed on Magnus and no-one else. Not even the young boy stood beside him can dissuade him from this.

At Magnus’ arrival, Angus stops tugging on Taako’s blouse and turns to Magnus instead. There’s a piece of paper clutched in one of Taako’s white-knuckled fists.

“Honestly, sir, I wasn’t going to tell him—”

“Keep your mouth shut, boychik.” Taako snarls. “This is between me and the big guy. Go to your room.”

Angus scuttles quickly away, fear melded to his footsteps, right as Magnus finds it in himself to say, “Don’t talk to the kid like that.”

Taako wheels around to face him, fury etched into every line of his face. He juts his chin at Magnus and jabs a finger into his chest. He doesn’t need to be big to be livid, and he’s showing it to him now through sheer willpower. Malice radiates off of Taako in waves.

“I’ll talk to him however I want,” he growls, stabbing again at Magnus’ chest, “How _dare_ you go and see Kravitz without my permission. How fucking _dare_ you.”

“Taako, I was only trying to help—”

“Behind my fucking back!”

Magnus spreads his arms wide. “You weren’t going to do it!”

Taako breathes in sharply, his eyes wide, standing like an obelisk in the middle of the hotel foyer. He is not in the slightest intimidated by Magnus, but then, neither is Magnus intimidated by Taako. It’s unfortunate – if one of them were afraid then this whole exchange just might end quicker.

“What I do is my business,” Taako says, clenching his fists and holding them out in front of him, as if he’s considering fighting Magnus, which is a disastrously bad idea. “You don’t get to decide what happens in my life. _I’m_ in charge of my life. Not you. If I want to spend my life alone, I’m going to fucking do it.”

“Taako—”

By this point, Taako is practically spitting. “No! Fuck you! You should have _never—_ ”

“He loves you, Taako!” Magnus shouts, flinging his arms wide. He’s angry now and he doesn’t honestly care who hears it; Taako is a bastard and he never should have bothered. Irrationality lingers in his veins like a vice, and Magnus is leaning into it. “He loves you and he cares for you! Why on Earth would you ever—”

Taako swears at him. “You shut the fuck up,” he hisses, leaning in, as powerful and as mighty as Taako has ever been, short and petite or not, “Don’t you dare try and talk about things you don’t understand. Not all of us want a goddam fairytale ending, Magnus. Some of us just want to live.”

“I don’t—”

“She’s dead, Magnus!” Taako roars, his eyes aflame and his hair electric, every fibre of him alight with the rage that he feels. Something similar is echoing in Magnus’ ribs, too. “Julia is dead and she is never coming back! Stop trying to – to fucking live through me or whatever, because it’s not going to work. I don’t _want_ to make it up with Kravitz. I don’t fucking deserve it. I want to be alone.” The last words are barely words; Taako is spitting with anger, alive with ire; barely pausing for breath, he turns on his heel and announces, “I don’t want to travel with you anymore. Tomorrow, I’m going back to Lup’s house and I’m fucking staying there.”

He storms away in a manner that is exactly Taako – eyes burning, his heart hidden well up his sleeve. He doesn’t see the expression on Magnus’ face, which is probably just as well – even Magnus isn’t sure what it looks like, but he can feel how his heart is burning, can feel the weight of a thousand wrongs settling on his shoulders like buzzards, pecking at him, tearing him to pieces—

He grits his teeth and stares impassively at the ground. The air beside him coughs.

“Sir?”

He looks up at Angus, noting with something of a familiar ache the overwhelming terror within his face. It’s all his fault, this rage. It’s all Magnus’ fault.

He tries to calm himself and realises that he can’t. He holds out a hand towards Angus – Angus backs steadily away. Magnus is furious and hurt and _seething_ and fuck, it shows on his face like nothing else. He can’t hide the emotion quivering there under any circumstances, and if Angus had just gone to his room like Taako _asked_ then this wouldn’t be a problem in the face place. God damn Taako. God damn everything.

But again, Magnus reminds himself, though he hates to be reminded, this isn’t Taako’s fault, not really. It’s definitely not Angus, nor Lucretia’s. It’s his own fault. Magnus should’ve seen this coming the way any sensible person would – how stupid he had been, to allow himself to believe in the far-misplaced hope of a child. Children wish for anything. It’s why Angus is here in the first place.

He has to do something. If he doesn’t, he’s as bad as any of his previous mistakes. He can’t be the man who ran away from Julia’s funeral, not now. He has to be the man who fell in love with her. With life, and with sunlight.

He has to be the man who chooses compassion over rage, or all is lost. He _knows_ this. Julia had said it a thousand times. He _knows_.

Here, there’s a choice to be made. Magnus is choosing it.

“It’s OK, Ango,” he whispers, except nothing he has ever said has been a whisper, as big as his body and his voice may be, “I’m not cross. Neither is Taako, really. We’re just—”

But whatever they are, Angus clearly doesn’t care. He takes another step backwards and mutters into his collar, “I’m going to get Lucretia.”

He vanishes into the elevator. Magnus stands listless and uncertain in the foyer, his eyes staring fixedly at a single point. Time enough, he thinks. Time to enough to let go, and move on. He turns towards the hotel exit and walks through it with barely a backwards glance.

 _Sorry Taako_ , he thinks, his heart hammering against the steel of his stone-caged heart, _but one of us deserves a fairytale ending, and it sure as hell isn’t me._

*

Magnus walks for a long while. It doesn’t seem important to stop. He crosses out of the hotel car park with barely a backwards glance, doesn’t think about his car, doesn’t think about water, doesn’t think about anything for a whole thirty minutes – it’s all he can do not to start running, in a way, as he marches on through the city streets and eventually makes it back onto the empty road that they arrived via in the first place. Everything is dusty here, and dirty, like him, so it makes the most sense to keep going, dragging his feet beneath him and heaving in stale air through lungs. He’s dragging an invisible cross through the invisible arches of an empty highway, and he’s glad for the pain. The pain allows him to see things more clearly than he has ever seen them before. And what he sees is this: there is no place for him in a world so unfair and unfeeling. He shouldn’t force it to accommodate him any longer than it has to, and the world has reached the end of its tether now. The time has come for Magnus to finish what was started with Julia all that time ago.

(Later, it will be scary to think about, that complete lack of resistance to what is well and truly a bad idea. Right now, it just seems intellectual, simple. This is how life progresses. This is what it means to complete a circle, and complete it again. He doesn’t question it.)

Eventually, where the road curves away from the valley below and becomes a gulch, Magnus stops and pretends to consider what he is leaving behind. He feels… empty, to a degree. As if his life is already over, his heartbeat already snuffed out, cold and cool, by the jagged precipices below. Detachment is a dangerous friend. It isn’t helpful – or at least, it’s never helpful in the way people assume. It helps the void, the darkness, more than anyone. It doesn’t help Magnus.

Death has never helped Magnus, really, but perhaps it will be his friend this time. Perhaps in the darkness Magnus will find the truth he’s been looking for since this road trip began. He might even find Julia – or a version of her. Unsick, unfettered by the world that had seemingly orchestrated her death. It will be nice.

No, hang on. Perhaps he’s being too unfair. The world had never conspired to end Julia; it had neglected her. It had allowed all of those horrible things to happen, all of that suffering, to the point that she is dead now and Magnus is not. That’s what it boils down to, really: Julia is dead and Magnus is not. Magnus is alone and Julia is sleeping. Perhaps this incorrigible world will allow Magnus to sleep, too. That would also be nice.

He steps off the highway, beyond the curving metal border, and approaches the gulch. It’ll messy, but then, Magnus’ life has always been messy. It’ll hurt, but all things hurt eventually. Magnus doesn’t care. All of that is irrelevant now, anyway.

He takes another step further, and that’s when his phone begins to ring. He answers it with a kind of lined tiredness.

It’s Lucretia, and as is usual for Lucretia, she sounds furious. “Magnus,” she says, her voice tinged with red and bits of pink, “Where the hell are you?”

He starts walking towards the slope. “Out,” he huffs into the speaker. “On a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

“Back—don’t give me that bullshit! You said that the night you ran away on a goddam road trip! Angus is sat here, in my room, crying, and he won’t tell me a single thing. Did you and Taako have an argument? Is that what this is about?”

Magnus’ reply is short and blunt. He wants the edge. The edge wants him. Can’t Lucretia see how simple this is?

“I told him about Julia,” he says, without really saying anything. “The other night. He was drunk. I didn’t think he’d remember. But he did. And he thinks – he thinks that I’m projecting what I really want onto him. That I want him to be with Kravitz because I never got that chance.” The words, when said out loud, sound pathetic. Magnus says so. “It’s pathetic. And… he’s right.”

Lucretia says nothing, only sighs. “Come home,” she says softly, “Come back to us, Magnus. He needs you.”

“I’m only going on a walk.”

“You won’t come back,” Lucretia says softly. She sounds so incredibly tired. “I know you, Magnus. You’re an expert in running away. So is Taako. You have to help each other.”

“Taako doesn’t need my help.” Magnus says. Then he sighs. He stops walking and turns to face the sun shining high in the clouds. “I’m sorry, Luc.”

“I’m sorry too. Now turn back. It took long enough to find you the first time. I’m not going through it again. Back. Now.”

Magnus glances down to look at the rest of the gulch. Twisted and full of rocks. He’s so close now. If he ended it here, no-one would ever find him, he thinks. It would be a fitting end. Magnus Burnsides, the man of dust. The man whose body fed the vultures and the bobcats. A man of nothing.

“Magnus,” Lucretia says again. “I know what you’re thinking. I know exactly where you are. And I’m telling you: don’t you fucking dare do it. Don’t you bloody dare.”

Magnus smiles and steps back from the ledge. “Aw, Luc.” he says. “I love it when you get all British. We should visit your parents again. I love the way they say twat.”

A sound escapes her; possibly relief, possibly not. Magnus squeezes the phone to his ear and take another step back towards the road. Then another. Then another. Eventually, he’s back where he started. By the road, afraid but not alone.

No, never that. Never alone. Lucretia would not allow for that.

“I’ll be with you in half an hour,” he says, choosing not to read too deeply into the breath that Lucretia discharges, hurried and aching like a fresh wound. He smiles into the receiver. “Love you, Luc.”

“I love you too, Magnus.” Lucretia replies. Magnus knows she’s smiling too, although he can’t see it. A sense of belonging tugs at him. “I’ll be waiting for you in the foyer. Half past four. Don’t you dare be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really actually almost at the end now, folks! I reckon I probably have about two or three more chapters to work through before I’m done - should get it all finished by the end of this week (hopefully), seeing as I’m off college and I don’t have to do as much travelling as I’m used to. Fingers crossed! This has been a really fun project to work on, but I ought to have been quicker when wrapping it up haha~ Apologies to everyone that’s had to wait for an update - you’ve all been super patient!
> 
> I’m just gonna keep chanting “There’s gonna be a happy ending" because, you know, there’s GONNA be a happy ending. I have the notes. Trust me on this one.


	22. Safe Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus returns. Conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! Thank you so much for reading!

Walking into the foyer the second time around leaves Magnus feeling distinctly wrong-footed. Or perhaps that’s just how four AM always feels – not quite whole, never completely a part of the rest of the world. The stage is the same, but the players are different this time: Lucretia stands up from the white marbled couch in the far corner and moves hurriedly towards him, Angus hot on her heels. He’s apprehensive, following on behind Lucretia more than he is rushing towards Magnus, but still. It makes him feel less raw inside, more grounded. More human.

Lucretia wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. The expression in her eyes is clear enough for anyone to understand. Magnus nods and hugs her back. When he looks up, he sees Taako.

Taako, head down, eyes averted, hanging about like a shadow in the narrow doorway that leads to the stairs. It’s the one part of the building that isn’t grandiose and over-the-top, and Taako has chosen to stand there. It makes Magnus’ heart thump in that same, familiar old way as it did in the beginning: they’ve come full circle now, and what Taako has to say will either make or break him.

He has a sullen, half-eaten expression on his face, which can only be a good sign. Taako isn’t pretending to be OK when he isn’t anymore. It’s refreshing.

Lucretia sees where his gaze is drifting – Lucretia sees everything – and quietly steps away, smiling again as she warrant to do and pulling Angus with her. She says something to him, something that is probably important, but Magnus doesn’t hear it. His whole head feels like it’s underwater, and if there’s anything helpful to catch from his friend then he’ll just have to look for it later, when all of this is done.

Magnus is tired. He’s not going to prolong Taako’s suffering for any longer than he has to. He’s just going to ask.

No, better than that. Magnus is going to apologise.

He approaches Taako, who makes no move to acknowledge him, other than to start tapping his foot. He doesn’t even look irritated this time, Magnus thinks. He looks anxious.

“Taako?”

“What?”

“I’m really sorry.”

There’s a pause – it seems to stretch on for millennia. Finally, Taako sighs and says, “Yeah, sure, I’m sorry too.” He bites his lip, half-raises his eyes to Magnus and then seems to reconsider. “It was a shitty thing to say. I shouldn’t’ve, like, accused you of trying to live through me or whatever. It’s not fair.”

Magnus tries to remember if Taako has ever apologised like this before – he’s so _close_ to sincerity, so close that only those that know him would recognise it – and thinks that he probably hasn’t. It’s nice. It marks a change in Taako, and probably a change in Magnus too. He reaches out a hand for Taako’s and waits for him to push him away. He doesn’t.

“You’re weren’t exactly wrong,” he says, as Taako raises his gaze and keeps it there, studying the worn contours of Magnus’ face, “I wasn’t – I’m not trying to live through you, not a bit. But I want you to be happy, Taako. You deserve it. You deserve to be with Kravitz.”

Taako half-attempts a snort of derision, but stops halfway through the act. He blinks into empty space for a moment before returning to the present. There’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before, Magnus thinks, and it looks like hope. Fragile, but ever-present hope. He latches onto it tentatively before it can disappear, and curls his fingers around Taako’s hand. A gentle squeeze. Taako squeezes back.

“I know,” he says, instead of whatever self-deprecating thing he was going to say in its place. There’s a pause; Taako seems to be debating whether or not to speak. Finally, he adds, “I called Krav.”

Magnus blinks at him. The water in his ears is slowly draining away, as if someone’s pulled the plug on his incredulity. “What?”

“I’m meeting him tonight – well, y’know. Tomorrow. To talk – to talk about some things.”

Magnus’ stone heart turns suddenly back into flesh. He looks down at Taako and smiles warmly. “Good,” he says, lacking, as he always is, in words. “I’m glad.”

Taako hums in vague disagreement. It can’t be nice, to have to confront all angles of your past all at once, but he’s doing it, and it pleases Magnus immensely.

Taako lets go of his arm suddenly, as if he’s just now become aware that he’s holding it. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks, gesturing towards the stairway. “I stole some pancakes from the kitchen.”

“Stole?”

“Angus was getting pensive.”

Magnus glances up at the ceiling above them, all carved plaster and intricate paintwork. They’ve come so far, and they still have so far to go. He wishes he could see the stars in this moment.

“Sure thing,” he replies. “Let’s eat pancakes.”

*

After eating, Magnus finds himself feeling inescapably sleepy. He ends up staying in Taako’s hotel room, for whatever reason, and so he’s still there when Taako wakes up several hours later and immediately breaks for the bathroom. He can hear the bath running through the wall into the en suite, and there’s the sound of Taako’s poor suitcase being slammed back and forth across the floor, and then – nothing.

Taako is always eerily silent when he puts on make-up, so Magnus doesn’t think any more about it – he turns over in his chair and falls soundly asleep again, a thin blanket folded over his legs. He feels safe here, at last. This is what their journey has come to.

Idly, Magnus wonders if this is what it means to come full circle – to start off with death and end up with life. The world works in peculiar ways, sometimes. It doesn’t always feel like enough, to be able to observe it, but Magnus supposes he’s observing it now.

The thought is eclipsed by his heavy eyelids. It’s the middle of the afternoon by the time he opens his eyes again. Taako isn’t there, but he will be the next time.

*

When Taako does come back, the curtains are closed and the room is almost entirely dark. Despite having spent the day with Lucretia and Angus, he’s back in Taako’s bedroom now and sitting in the chair like some kind of Bond supervillain. He doesn’t want to go back to his room. He doesn’t want to miss Taako, or anything that comes after this, for fear of never seeing it again. It feels as if it would be a curse to leave; to leave is to leave Taako alone on his return, and Magnus simply can’t allow for that. He has to know. He has to wait, and be patient. If he can just sit here…

The early hours of the morning feel less and less real with every one he witnesses. By the time the door opens and Taako slips through it, Magnus already feels more of a phantasm than a person.

He sees Magnus sat half-slumped in the chair and pauses for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and saunters on as if nothing has happened. He barely glances at Magnus as he approaches the door to the en suite, but Magnus knows he’s looking.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and Magnus finds himself thinking that they seem to have made a routine of this, slipping into and out of each other’s rooms like ghosts, trading toiletries, spare socks, half-formed stories. He’s never felt so at ease in another person’s presence – Taako stops him from feeling like he’s too big for his body, prevents him from feeling clumsy and stupid and all the rest of it. He doesn’t feel self-conscious around Taako – which is something that even he and Lucretia have never had. Taako is a friend around which is it is OK to have unusual boundaries – or even no boundaries at all. They don’t have any secrets left, between the two of them – only their own thoughts.

When Taako steps out of the bathroom, Magnus can tell that he’s ready to talk. There’s a kind of frisson of energy surrounding him that Magnus can read with ease – Taako isn’t wearing any make-up, not now, and his long blond hair – going brown at the roots now, after all they’ve been through, it won’t be long until he starts complaining about needing a hairdresser – falls down his back in well-tended tangles. He’s also wearing one of Magnus’ t-shirts, which is an admirable bit of theft on Taako’s part. He looks laughable and vulnerable all at once. He looks like Taako.

He sits down on the bed and looks expectantly at Magnus, still in his day-clothes despite the hour and exhausted with it, and says, “We should have a cool slumber party. I miss those.”

After that, it’s a simple matter of stealing every last pillow and bottle of nail varnish from Magnus’ room, and setting up a blanket fort set to rival even the most dedicated of architects. Magnus finds himself feeling rather proud of their collective efforts as he sits down beneath their ridiculous bed sheet canopy.

“So,” he says, still cautious despite the nebulous expression on Taako’s face, or perhaps even because of it, “How did it go?”

Taako stops painting his toenails and looks up at him. The bottle in his hand is stained a bright vivid pink – one of Magnus’ favourites. He’s forgotten what it’s called, but he’s happy to let Taako steal it if it means having his own fingernails painted too.

Taako taps a nail thoughtfully against the bottle. “I don’t know,” he says at last, that same ever-present caution laced into his words, “I think it went well.” Another pause. “I’m not so used to having second chances.”

“You have one now.”

“It doesn’t feel earned.”

Magnus scrambles for a torch, clicks it on and holds it up to Taako’s face. There’s doubt there, terrible doubt, but at the same time he can’t help but think that Taako looks more pleased with himself than he ever has done. He’s just cautious about the good things, that’s all.

Taako swats the torch away irritably. “That’s bright, Mags.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you think I’ve earned it?”

It takes a while for Magnus to formulate the correct question. “Earned what?”

“Home. Not Kravitz, obviously,” he adds, “He’s, like, a person. But I want to feel like I’ve earned the right to go home.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything to that. He knows how Taako feels. A little part of him still wonders if he’s earned the right to go home, too. The last stretch is ahead of them, he thinks. It’s come to them both so quickly.

“I don’t think you have to earn it,” he says at last. Taako is still holding the bottle of nail polish in his hand. It’s going to dry out if he’s not careful. He says at such.

“You should put a lid on that.”

Taako tsks loudly. “I’m _using_ it, Mags. Get off my back.” Another thoughtful pause. “Lup said the same thing, you know. About going home. She said I should just do it, stop fucking about. It seemed a lot harder at the time.”

For a moment, Magnus considers the ethics of having a super-serious conversation underneath a blanket fort, then dismisses it. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.

Without thinking about it, he reaches out a hand for the nail varnish brush and starts painting the rest of Taako’s toenails for him. It’s easier to talk when he’s not looking Taako straight in the eye.

“At least it’s a start,” he says quietly. He’s not going to pretend that all this will succeed where Taako is concerned if Taako isn’t. It wouldn’t be right. “You and Kravitz were able to talk. It’s something. You might feel like you’ve earned it by the end of it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well,” Magnus says. He’s flummoxed for a moment, and then he isn’t. The blanket fort surrounding them has the peculiar property of making any huge problem seem small. “You’ll get to that when you get to it.”

Taako doesn’t say anything else after that. Privately, Magnus finds himself feeling just a little grateful. Words have never been his strong suit. He wouldn’t know what to do if Taako started talking about the specifics of his and Kravitz’ meeting. His selfish heart doesn’t yet know how to deal with compromise, he thinks.

Julia isn’t here with him, in this life, but he’ll meet her in the next one. That is what his own compromise with be. A final reunion at the end of his days.

Nothing is ever fixed instantaneously. Magnus’ heart is no different. He isn’t sure it will ever be quiet, really. But that’s OK. There’s time for him to grow, now. Grow and grow fond, of this and all of this. It makes his tired heart smile in a way that he’s finally satisfied with.

Sometimes, happiness doesn’t have to be earned, he thinks.

*

The next morning is their last at the hotel. Magnus wearily packs away his things and piles them into the back of the car, alongside Angus’ and Taako’s. Lucretia isn’t coming with them. He knew she wouldn’t, but still. It hurts.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Lucretia says, looking up at him with a star in each eye. Some part of Magnus knows that he should say something, but somehow the words just aren’t there. His mind is just… empty. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it is just too full.

“Yeah,” he echoes. “I’ll see you.”

He climbs into the car, not quite trusting himself to look at Lucretia again in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t want to look at her expression again for fear of having misread it. It’s an extremely rational fear.

Taako leans over to tap at his shoulder from the driver’s seat. Angus is in the back. He’s holding onto a stuffed animal that Lucretia gave to him, a plush brown bear that he claims is his first, but Magnus can’t allow himself to think about that for fear of disturbing the gentle balance now swaying back and forth inside of him. It’s like there’s a tidal wave inside his body. He doesn’t want to let it out for fear of the shape it might take. Then again, right now Magnus feels like an entire ocean could be brewing inside of him.

“You OK?” Taako asks. The walls of the dam shudder but stand strong. Magnus isn’t sure why he feels like this. He shouldn’t be feeling like anything. They’ve left plenty of other places behind them before this one. It’s nothing special. It’s nothing different.

He can’t speak the words out loud. To speak such words into existence would be to fail catastrophically. To admit he’s anything less than fine would be to invite a tidal wave onto the road ahead. So he keeps silent, and speaks only small words.

“I’m OK,” he says, those single two syllables carrying with them everything he cannot reveal. They settle heavy on his lungs, salt-stained and tired beyond belief. He allows himself a sideways glance at the man beside him. “You?”

“I’m good,” Taako says airily. He kicks the car into gear and doesn’t say another word the entire time they’re still in the city. It isn’t until they’re back on that wide, empty road that Magnus dares to ask another question. One last question. Magnus hopes that it’s the right one.

“So,” he says, glancing sideways at Taako, now dressed in a flamboyantly patterned sundress and a large pair of sunglasses that look suspiciously as if they should belong to Lup, “where are we going?”

Taako glances sideways at him, arching a perfectly pencilled eyebrow. “Home, bubbaleh,” he says simply. “We’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et fini! Thank you again for sticking with this fic onto the end - I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed making it - I never expected to write as much as I have done for this fic, but I’m pleased (and pleasantly surprised) with how it turned out. Setting myself the challenge of writing a road trip in America was certainly very different from what I’m used to, and I like to think I’ve stretched my writing muscles a good bit whilst doing it. :D
> 
> Be on the lookout for the epilogue that accompanies this fic - I couldn’t quite manage to fit it into the main fic, so I’m adding it on as an additional short story. It’s not very long - only about 800 words or so, but I felt like In All This Driftwork needed an extra conclusion (and I do love me a good epilogue!)
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I could never have finished this fic if it weren’t for your wonderful support - no matter how many times it’s been said, I never get tired of hearing that people like what I write. It keeps me going! So thank you - it means a lot. <3


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